


Nom de plume

by karuvapatta



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: (that's not my fault it's this stupid pairing), (that's the plan anyway), Action/Adventure, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Boss/Employee Relationship, F/M, Family Drama, Infidelity, Love Triangles, Peacock Miraculous, Post-Season/Series 02, Unrequited Love, Villains to Heroes, a bunch of made-up lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-09-03 03:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16754770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: Right off the failure of his "Heroes' Day" plan, Gabriel Agreste learns he is not the only villain in Paris who desires the Miraculouses. Nathalie is determined to help him succeed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, funny story! I started planning this AU to get me through the mid-season hiatus. But, since season 3 is coming earlier than expected and all my headcanons are about to be made obselete, I'm just. Gonna share this thing as it is. Who knows, maybe someone will find it interesting. Enjoy!

After the spectacular fiasco of their plan, Monsieur Agreste seemed disinterested in trying again. He didn’t say why; maybe it was the blow to his pride, maybe it was the Peacock Miraculous that Nathalie refused to give up and promised to use again, holding her own well-being hostage in an exchange for a few days of peace. And to think she once claimed that their relationship couldn’t get any more complicated.

“Sir,” she said one evening. “Nothing is scheduled for the next few hours, and Adrien is about to perform in a school play. He’d appreciate it if you showed up.”

M. Agreste looked up from his sketchpad and arched an eyebrow. Well aware that she was treading on thin ice, Nathalie kept her expression neutral.

“What kind of a school play?”

“An annual charity event for a local animal shelter.” Nathalie frowned at her tablet. “There might be a talent show involved. Nevertheless, Adrien has spent the past few weeks preparing for it.”

The man went back to sketching in quick, sharp movements. Looking for an excuse, Nathalie realised.

“I tried to make a donation in your name, sir, but the only way is to pay an admission fee,” she said. “They were quite adamant about that.”

“That is a ridiculous way to run a charity event,” M. Agreste said. Then he gave her a long, searching look that Nathalie weathered with some difficulty. “You are going to insist, aren’t you.”

“Only if I have to, sir,” she said.

This was dangerous ground. No matter how much they liked to pretend otherwise, something had shifted in their relationship. Nathalie wasn’t quite sure where the new lines were drawn, or if they had been already.

M. Agreste sighed. “Very well.”

***

Their arrival caused quite a stir. After all, M. Agreste was a well-known celebrity with a flair for the dramatic. But he flatly refused to be seated in the front row, keeping to the relative anonymity of the shadows. That is to say, he took the farthest seat, and then let Nathalie handle the headmaster who insisted on having him somewhere where the couple of bored journalists could get a good picture.

Somebody was bound to have told Adrien, because once he entered the stage his eyes swept over the first few rows with barely concealed excitement. Being the professional he was, he managed to cover the ensuing disappointment with a cheerful smile.

Nathalie wasn’t used to being a passive observer of such events. To her eye, the entire thing had been thrown together by a rather clueless amateur. She forced herself not to overanalyse every detail, but it wasn’t easy.

The applause rolled. Adrien began to play.

She had heard him practice often enough to recognize Mozart’s Piano Sonata No 16. It was an energetic, cheerful tune, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the ease with which Adrien performed it. Better yet were his cheering friends and classmates, at whom Adrien directed one of his brightest smiles.

From her position behind him, Nathalie couldn’t see M. Agreste’s face. Which was probably lucky, because once Adrien bowed and disappeared, the rest of the performances began.

She might have neglected to tell him Adrien was the opening act of a two hour show. Oh well.

***

Kids and their families were milling in the corridor outside of the aula. It wasn’t hard to spot the mop of blond hair, especially once Adrien froze at the sight of them.

“Father!” he said. “You didn’t tell me you were going to come.”

“Nathalie forgot to inform me until the last minute,” M. Agreste said. Such was his revenge, apparently.

Adrien didn’t look convinced. “Nathalie forgot?”

“Happens to the best of us,” she said, stone-faced. “My apologies, Adrien.”

“You did very well,” M. Agreste said. A little awkwardly, he placed a hand on Adrien’s shoulder, unsure what else to say. The boy, bless him, surprised his father with a tight hug.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Adrien said, his voice muffled.

Looking at the two of them, Nathalie didn’t think the evening could get any more perfect. As they were leaving the building however, they were approached by the Dupain-Chengs.

“Good evening, Monsieur,” M. Dupain said politely. “Will you be joining us?”

Before M. Agreste could question them further, Adrien rushed in to explain. “Marinette invited us to their bakery to celebrate.”

“You would be very welcome,” Mme Cheng said, encouraging.

“I suppose Nathalie neglected to mention that, too,” M. Agreste said, voice cold. Oh, she was definitely in trouble by that point. “Unfortunately, I have some prior engagements.”

Well.

“You had a call from the office in New York, sir, but they asked to reschedule it for tomorrow,” Nathalie said helpfully, scrolling through her tablet to add credibility to the obvious lie.

It wasn’t necessary. M. Agreste wasn’t going to argue, not in front of all these people. She was safe for now; his hands were tied.

***

Watching M. Agreste enter a quaint bakery surrounded by happy teenagers was a surreal experience. He scowled at Nathalie before adopting a more neutral expression, and she had to stop herself from wishing him a good time. But then Adrien caught his father’s sleeve and said something, and the two were off.

Nathalie sighed and sat back in her seat.

“I could get us a coffee while we wait,” she said to André.

The bodyguard shrugged, scanning the length of the street. “I’m watching my blood pressure.”

“Yeah? You should consider switching jobs,” Nathalie murmured.

She looked up from her tablet to see André study her more closely. Nathalie blinked at him in confusion.

“What?”

“Was this a joke?” André asked. “Did Nathalie Sancoeur just make a joke?”

“It wasn’t that funny,” she said after a pause.

“Baby steps,” André said, sniggering.

There was some truth to the statement. Her mood had been strange lately – she would never cajole M. Agreste into social gatherings in such blatant, impertinent way. But it was worth it, any amount of trouble was worth seeing Adrien and his father spend time together. She should do it more often – as often as possible, before—

Ah. There it was, the nagging little thought: Nathalie had to start sorting things out _now_ , not in some nebulous future that she will not be a part of.

André turned on the radio, settling on a pop song she would never suspect him of liking. It had an easy, catchy beat, and André drummed his fingers along with it. He scanned the street and the brightly-lit bakery every once in a while, keeping an eye on both of his charges.

Well, they would (hopefully) be here for some time. She might as well catch up on the less urgent emails clogging up her mailbox.

***

The latest work of Jagged Stone got interrupted mid-chorus. Nathalie startled when the news broadcast began.

“An Akuma attack?” she repeated. “How on earth…”

“Another one,” André flexed his fingers on the wheel, his powerful jaw grinding. “That bastard just won’t learn.”

Nathalie turned the volume up. The report was vague and the internet was still silent on the subject, though videos were sure to start cropping up any second.

Bastard, indeed. Gabriel _fucking_ Agreste would rather akumatize someone from a bakery’s bathroom than have a civil conversation with his son’s friends over dessert. Nathalie was going to strangle the man.

As she slammed the car door behind her and entered the bakery, she realized something was odd. Several tables had been put together to accommodate the large group of people. Adrien sat next to Miss Dupain-Cheng, the two sharing a plate of macarons; and there, on his other side, talking to M. Dupain, dressed in his customary white suit, not doing anything suspicious at all – there was M. Agreste.

Her abrupt entrance caught the group’s attention. Nathalie steeled herself and nodded in greeting.

“Can I have a word, sir?” she asked.

Maybe it was an illusion. It didn’t seem that way. M. Agreste dabbed a folded napkin to the corner of his mouth, removing a bit of icing, and rose from his seat, expression carefully neutral.

“You are half an hour too late,” he hissed once they were outside and out of earshot.

This was a conversation for another time. Nathalie pulled up a news website on her tablet and shoved it in his grip, brushing his fingers as she did so. He wasn’t an illusion; his hand was solid and warm, to the point of distraction.

She coughed to cover her embarrassment. M. Agreste gave her a long, searching look before focusing on the reports.

The image was upside-down, but she could see the Akuma for the first time. It didn’t look human at all; it was a massive wolf with purple fur and glowing eyes, poised to strike at the idiot with the camera. In fact, it looked almost like the—

“But I don’t understand,” Nathalie said blankly. “I have it right here…”

She touched the Peacock Miraculous pinned beneath her jacket. It hadn’t gone missing. It wasn’t active, either; Duusu peeked at her from her hiding place in Nathalie’s sleeve.

“I didn’t do anything, either,” M. Agreste said. He scrolled the tablet, frown deepening. The attack was occurring a long way from here, but it wasn’t particularly comforting. The wolf moved _fast_ , unnaturally so.

“Adrien!” M. Agreste said sharply, opening the door. “We are going home. There has been another attack.”

The news caused a commotion at the table. Adrien and Marinette rose at the same time and then shot a confused look at one another.

“Right,” Adrien said. “Home. I, uh. I guess we should. I’ll see you around?” he smiled at the girl. “Stay safe, Marinette.”

She hugged him spontaneously, knocking the boy a few steps back. Adrien smiled at her and she very nearly swooned in his arms.

They were silent on the drive home. Nathalie kept reading the reports. If they were to be believed, the wolf wasn’t an only monster around. Perhaps it was mass hysteria, since none of the others – bear, moose, a flock of monkeys – had been caught on camera.

Adrien was jittery, looking through the windows and then running straight for his room once they arrived at the mansion. He paused when M. Agreste placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it an urgent squeeze.

“Adrien,” the man said quietly. “Stay in your room, please. No matter what happens, promise me you’ll stay safe.”

The boy looked up at his father, wide-eyed. He wasn’t used to blatant displays of affection or for that particular tone of voice. It was a rare thing, to see M. Agreste so terrified.

“I promise, Father,” Adrien said. “I’ll be careful.”

He ran to his room, shutting the door firmly behind him. M. Agreste walked at a more controlled pace, his stormy expression growing tenser by the second. Confused, Nathalie followed him to the Hawkmoth lair where they could talk without fear of being overheard. The butterflies fluttered around them.

“Are you certain this isn’t your doing, sir?” Nathalie asked.

Maybe he didn’t want to share his latest plan with her. After all, he wasn’t yet over her reckless use of the damaged Miraculous.

“Are you certain this isn’t _yours_?” he snapped back, scrolling through the reports. “Nooroo, dark wings rise!”

If she were to be honest, Nathalie _wasn’t_ certain. The Miraculouses were still largely a mystery to her. Magic had had no place in her life until M. Agreste started messing around with it, and, had she any sense at all, Nathalie would have kept it that way. But people did foolish things, out even more foolish reasons; she wasn’t immune to stupidity.

Hawkmoth was scanning the city for strong emotions that could have engendered the monsters. Again, Nathalie touched the Peacock brooch.

“What’s happening?” she asked softly, so as not to disturb Hawkmoth’s concentration. “Did I do this?”

The little Duusu walked onto her palm, sweeping the long tail around herself. Her face scrunched up in confusion when Nathalie held up the tablet screen where she could take a closer look at it.

“Oh,” Duusu said, worried. “It might be whoever has the shard…”

“What?”

Duusu radiated a bluish aura, her high-pitched voice shaking a little as she turned to Nathalie. “The broken piece of the Peacock Miraculous. It’s been damaged a long time ago… it’s the reason why using its powers is harmful to you humans.”

Nathalie didn’t need to be reminded of how exhausted she was after dropping the transformation. If M. Agreste was to be believed, this is what had drained the lifeforce of Mme Agreste and left her in an almost two-year coma. However, he had never explained the particulars of the situation.

“But how can they use it?” Nathalie asked. “You are here, aren’t you?”

The blue aura intensified. “I am. But I think I’m with the shard, too—it’s just that—”

“Quiet,” Hawkmoth said.

At that, the little Kwami’s aura went from blue to purple to vibrant red. She wasn’t simply angry; she radiated the emotion with her entire being, seething at the indifferent Hawkmoth. Nathalie tried to calm her down by settling her on her own shoulder, further away from the man.

The pink butterfly-shaped visor appeared before Hawkmoth’s face, and then her own; she could see the girl, Volpina, hunched behind a couch while a flock of dark violet monkeys trashed the room she was in.

Fear and confusion crashed into Nathalie with a force of a gale, magnified by the Peacock. Oddly, they gave way to excitement once Volpina recognized the visor.

“Hawkmoth!” she said, dodging a teacup tossed by one of the monkeys. “What’s the plan?”

He was able to reign in his own puzzlement at the downright gleeful reception just enough to keep his voice calm and authoritative. “None. This isn’t my doing.”

“You can tell me!” Volpina said. Then she had to bolt across the room and roll beneath a bed.

Unakumatized, this was just a little girl; Nathalie watched with growing horror at the damage caused by the monkeys. Hawkmoth had done worse, of course, but the sheer scale of the attack was staggering. According to the news report, there was not a single district in Paris that hadn’t been targeted by these animals, hellbent on destroying as much property as possible. Ladybug and Chat Noir had sprung into action but even they couldn’t be everywhere at the same time.

Hawkmoth clenched his fists behind his back. “I’ve told you already, somebody else is involved this time. I _will_ find them. In the meantime Ladybug and Chat Noir can handle these creatures—"

“No!” the girl yelled, fear and bitterness overtaking the initial enthusiasm. “I am _not_ waiting around to be rescued by _Ladybug_.”

Not much remained of her shelter. Her voice was lost in the cacophony of smashed furniture, torn fabric, breaking glass; or perhaps what Nathalie felt, with every fibre of her being, was the wave of negative emotions crashing over the city, blinding her to what was before her very eyes, and the odd sensation of Hawkmoth’s hand at the small of her back, steadying her on her feet.

“Very well,” he said. “Here—”

One of the butterflies settled in his gloved palm, taking on a purple-tinted glow of his magic. It flew through the open window, heading towards Volpina.

Nathalie didn’t know how illusions might help in a fight, but the girl was more creative than she was. As soon as the power settled over her, she rolled from underneath the bed and vanished; some of the monkeys were replaced with visions of unbroken objects, immediately attacked by the rest of the flock. The images could not hold up against physical contact, but the enraged animals were busy fighting one another, giving Volpina enough time to slip from the room unnoticed.

The visor disappeared. Nathalie still felt weakened by the onslaught of emotion but it was a little easier to focus now, when she wasn’t sharing Hawkmoth’s power. She wondered hazily if he had even meant to do that.

“Can you trace the source of these creatures?” he asked.

“We’ll see,” Nathalie replied. “Duusu—”

As she transformed into Mayura, the sensations grew more intense, but she found that with some effort she could set them aside, taking a mental step back from the emotional landscape of the city. And yes, she felt them: annoyances, frustrations, flares of rage, all blown out of proportion and given physical form. There were dozens of them, maybe hundreds, scattered around Paris. It was her magic, and yet it wasn’t; if she focused she could pinpoint a place where the spell could have sprung from, where _she_ could have caused it to happen.

“There’s too many,” she said, quite calmly given the circumstances. “I can’t trace them all.”

Wonders of the internet meant that she could watch in real-time as Ladybug and Chat Noir destroyed several of the creatures; she also knew with bone-deep certainty that with the feathers still untouched, whoever was using the other Peacock could call them back if they so wished.

They didn’t.

Everywhere around Paris, the magic was fading seemingly of its own accord. She sensed relief, cautious hope, suspicion – and the little flares of intense destructive emotions snuffed out, no longer augmented by the power of the Miraculous.

“How did you do it?” Hawkmoth asked. He recalled the Akuma that Volpina was using and dismissed it, dropping his transformation. Nathalie did the same, grateful to be in her own skin.

“I didn’t,” she said tiredly. “They must have exhausted themselves, just as I did the last time. It’s good to know there’s a limit on these things…”

“What are you talking about?” M. Agreste demanded.

Duusu jumped onto Nathalie’s shoulder and settled close to her neck, glaring at M. Agreste. The red of her aura softened when she turned to Nooroo, who was hovering by M. Agreste’s head.

“A moment, sir,” Nathalie said. “I have to check on Adrien first.”

A flash of guilt crossed M. Agreste’s face. “Yes—yes, do that.”

They left the lair in silence.

***

When Nathalie walked into his room, Adrien was busy locking the window. With how cold the room was, it wasn’t difficult to figure out it had been open for quite some time.

“Nathalie!” Adrien jumped.

“What were you doing?” Nathalie asked, blinking.

“I, uh—I needed some fresh air,” the boy said.

Nathalie sighed. “All right. But you saw what happened – you have to be careful, Adrien.”

“I’m not scared of Hawkmoth,” he said. His voice was harder than Nathalie had ever heard it and he lifted his chin, the same stubborn glint in his eyes that his mother used to have.

“Good,” Nathalie said. She wanted to say something else, reassure the boy somehow, apologize for every secret she had kept from him, hug him, protect him – but she settled on: “It’s late. You should go to sleep.”

“Sure. I will.”

She paused with her hand on the door-handle, a little awkward. “Your performance was wonderful, Adrien.”

“Thank you,” he replied, smiling softly. “I’m glad you and Father were there.”

***

As was his custom, M. Agreste stood in the darkened office with hands linked at the small of his back, staring at his wife’s portrait. She took note of the tense line of his shoulders and waited until he was ready to turn around and speak to her. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t smooth the worried frown from his face as he settled behind his desk, motioning for Nathalie to take the opposite seat.

Duusu burrowed out from Nathalie’s sleeve and onto her palm. She set the Kwami on the desk, and fished a chocolate praline from her pocket. While she didn’t need it, Duusu certainly seemed to enjoy them.

“You’ve mentioned the shard,” Nathalie prompted.

Duusu glared at M. Agreste. “I don’t want to talk to _him_.”

“Please,” Nathalie said tiredly.

“I just don’t understand why we are helping him!” the Kwami exclaimed, radiating a deep red. “After what he did to Nooroo—”

The other Kwami, confused and uncertain, emerged from behind M. Agreste’s shoulder and slowly descended onto the desk. “Actually,” he said in a small careful voice, “that would be the first time Master used his powers the way they were meant to be used.”

M. Agreste was visibly annoyed by the way these two tiny creatures discussed him. At Nathalie’s questioning gaze, he exhaled and laced his fingers together.

“I could sense the girl hoping to contact me,” he said. “For some reason, she trusts Hawkmoth more than Ladybug.”

Well, who was Nathalie to criticize other people’s poor judgement?

“I see,” she said.

The two Kwamis unwrapped the chocolate and were sharing it between them. Even Nathalie’s non-existent heart found it adorable.

“What was it you said about a shard?” M. Agreste asked.

“I’m not sure I understood it,” Nathalie replied. “Duusu, if you could—”

“Ugh. _Fine._ ”

The dislike was mutual, because M. Agreste levelled Duusu with a glare. “You do realize you have to do what Nathalie says.”

“You do realize you are the absolute _worst_ ,” Duusu said haughtily, positioning herself between M. Agreste and Nooroo. Then she sat back, tail fanned out behind her, and began to talk. “The Miraculous forges a connection between a human using it and the Kwami powering it. If the Miraculous is broken into pieces, this connection is damaged, drawing energy from the human and, eventually, exhausting them. The individual pieces, however, can still work – meaning that there are now two imperfect Peacock Miraculouses instead of one.”

“But you’re here,” Nathalie said. “So what’s powering this other piece?”

“Also me,” Duusu replied. “I’m a Kwami. Even a half of me is functionally a whole, but—” her aura was now tinted a sickly green colour. “I don’t think I like it that there’s two of me.”

“How do we know there’s just two?” M. Agreste asked. “What happened here didn’t seem to be the work of only one person.”

“The more pieces the Miraculous is broken into, the more dangerous it is to use,” Duusu said dismissively. “Nathalie wouldn’t be able to transform at all if that were the case—probably. I’m not actually sure.”

M. Agreste shot another look at Nathalie and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Who has it, then?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Duusu, glaring at him. “But it could be someone misusing the power of the Miraculous for their own selfish purpose. Some people are just like that.”

Before M. Agreste could reply, aggravating the situation even further, Nathalie leaned forward and took out another praline, grabbing the attention of the two Kwamis.

“But how could they do what they did, whoever they are?” she asked. “I could barely handle summoning _one_ of these creatures.”

“They could have more experience than you do,” Nooroo said. He flew up and grabbed the end of the silvery foil while Nathalie held onto the other one. She fought a silly grin as the Kwami unwrapped the praline.

“Or use some other method of power augmentation,” M. Agreste wondered.

“Like what? All the other Miraculouses are accounted for and unbroken,” Nathalie said.

“Maybe that’s what they are after,” Duusu said. “It’s been a very long time since all the Miraculouses were gathered in one place… we should be very, _very_ careful from now on. They could be a danger to us all.”

“That’s assuming they survived today’s attack,” M. Agreste said coldly.

Nathalie knew well what – _who_ – he was thinking of as they discussed the Peacock. His eyes might have been on Nathalie but he saw another face entirely. The beautiful, kind Mme Agreste, whose sunny personality made it impossible to resent her; whose gaze followed Nathalie with every step she took inside this mansion. Everything Nathalie did was both too much and not enough – Adrien and M. Agreste might have needed her, but she couldn’t hope to fill the void that Mme Agreste had left in their lives. It felt like a betrayal of her memory to even try.

Nathalie forced the air out of her lungs and focused on M. Agreste. “That’s a dangerous assumption to make,” she said, matter-of-fact. “They clearly know what they are doing. I’d wager they also know when to stop.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” M. Agreste demanded. “Sit around and wait to be provoked into revealing myself so that they can steal my Miraculous—”

“What a terrible thing to put someone through,” Duusu was once again green with disgust.

Without a doubt M. Agreste recognized the irony of the situation. Being the man he was, however, he did not handle powerlessness well; the situation affected him more than it did Nathalie.

“Duusu was right, sir,” Nathalie said. “We will just have to be more careful from now on.”

“Inaction is not a solution,” M. Agreste said.

“Sometimes it has to be,” Nathalie said.

His grey blue eyes softened when he looked at her; Nathalie smiled helplessly back. Keeping their eyes locked, M. Agreste asked: “Is there a way to fix the Peacock?”

Duusu and Nooroo shared a worried glance.

“The pieces just need to be reunited, Master,” Nooroo said. “Then there will be only one, but it’ll be safe to use.”

“I thought so,” M. Agreste said. “So it’s you they have to target first, Nathalie.”

“That’s not going to be a problem, sir,” Nathalie said briskly. “As long as I don’t use it, no one will know I have it.”

She couldn’t read his expression. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

“Or you could give it back to me,” M. Agreste said, softly, too softly. The concern in his voice only made it harder to refuse him, but Nathalie had had practice in bottling up her emotions.

“No, sir,” she said.

The power it gave her – she needed it to protect M. Agreste and Adrien. This was not something Nathalie would ever willingly give up on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathalie accompanies Adrien to a photoshoot.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Nathalie said, then covered the receiver of her phone so that the caller couldn’t hear her exasperated sigh. “Yes, sir, I understand, but M. Agreste _really_ cannot talk to you right now. I’d be happy to relay a message—”

Adrien walked into the room, agitated, but paused when he saw Nathalie was talking.

“I am aware—no, sir—yes, sir—all right,” she scrolled through her spreadsheets. “How does Monday three weeks from now sound to you? I’ll pencil you in.”

She heard a very distinct “dumb bitch” right before he disconnected; well, she’d mark his name as a “maybe”.

“Hello, Adrien,” she said.

“Hi,” the boy replied. “Did you cancel the shoot tomorrow?”

Nathalie swallowed a curse.

“Yes. Your father asked me to—”

“I don’t understand!” Adrien circled her office like a caged animal. “He hasn’t let me out of the house for a week! I’m missing school, I’m missing fencing—”

“He is worried about you,” Nathalie said gently. “The attack—”

“These attacks happen _every_ week, what was so special about the last one?” Adrien asked.

The obvious answer was the one she could never give him. Nathalie weathered the boy’s frustration and waited until he was ready to speak again.

“I promised Marinette I’d give her a tour of the set,” Adrien mumbled. Then he cast a long look at the closed door of M. Agreste’s office. “Can I talk to him?”

Hating herself, Nathalie replied: “He asked not to be disturbed.”

“Of course,” Adrien said in a cold, sarcastic voice. “So _when_ can I talk to him? Can you pencil me in for Tuesday three weeks from now?”

Nathalie sighed. Then she rose from her seat and knocked, politely, before pushing the door open. M. Agreste barely spared her a glance, focused on his work.

“Sir, Adrien’s here to see you,” she said.

Anticipating dismissal, Nathalie ushered the boy in before her boss had the chance to protest. Then she closed the door behind her and went back to the desk, grateful that the thick walls of the mansion muffled the two raised voices. Ten a.m. and she was already getting a headache…

Seven minutes later, the door opened with too much force.

“Nathalie,” M. Agreste said icily. Adrien was peeking at her from behind his shoulder, expression cautiously hopeful. “You will accompany Adrien to the shoot.”

“Of course, sir.”

“You are _not_ to leave his side.”

“As you wish, sir.”

He spun around on his heel and went back to his office.

This could be a horrible mistake. Adrien was beaming at her, unaware that M. Agreste’s overprotective tendencies were much more understandable in this case. His happiness was infectious, and she found herself smiling back at him.

What could go wrong, after all?

***

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was elated with the tour, although it was anyone’s guess if her enthusiasm had more to do with a genuine interest in the industry or with Adrien himself. The boy was blissfully oblivious, introducing Marinette as a “friend from school” to the crew, who sniggered behind their backs.

None of this was Nathalie’s problem, so long as the shoot began on time. Without M. Agreste’s sour mood clouding her mind, she could also get a head-start on tomorrow’s schedule; yes, it was shaping up to be a good, productive day.

That’s when the studio was plunged into darkness.

“Adrien!” Nathalie called out.

She sensed the wave of confusion everywhere around her. Perhaps this was nothing; a mundane power shortage—

Someone was screaming in the building. Nathalie turned on the flashlight in her phone and managed to find her way in the dark to where she last saw Adrien and Marinette. With how cluttered the floor was, she tripped over several cables and was grateful no one could see it.

“What the hell—” someone in the production team began, another cutting him off with a loud, angry yell.

Adrien wasn’t there.

She called his name again, panic lacing her voice. It was impossible to sense him with so many people around; she couldn’t see which light was his phone screen, either. Not unless she called, but the reception in the studio was notoriously poor.

By the time she heard a crash behind a distant wall, Nathalie was convinced it wasn’t an ordinary malfunction. A glowing, purple horse galloping through the room was a major clue; Nathalie swallowed a curse.

So the other Mayura – she hesitated to call them the evil Mayura, as this might imply she was the good one by default, of which she wasn’t convinced – survived after all. She had half-heartedly hoped it wasn’t so…

First she had to find Adrien. Then she might start to worry.

“Duusu,” Nathalie murmured, sneaking into the bathroom. It was unlikely she could be heard over the expensive cacophony of breaking equipment, but she would rather play it safe. “Transform me.”

Once the transformation settled over her, she was able to sense emotions more clearly. And she did find Adrien – he and Marinette had left the studio but didn’t get far in the darkness. Mayura called onto her visor reflexively, and discovered the children had been cornered by a pack of magic wolves.

It was easier to remain calm while she held the Miraculous. She plucked a feather from her fan and considered her options; talking directly to Adrien might be dangerous – although slim, there was still a chance he might recognise her. Curiously, she felt very little fear in the boy, even as he stared down into the vicious, glowing eyes. No, there was an odd juxtaposition of the need to keep Marinette safe, and the need to get away from her as soon as possible – why?

She had no time to ponder. His concern for the girl’s safety was enough for Mayura’s magic to get the hook in. She blew on the feather and let it find its way to the boy.

A giant panther leapt on the nearest wolf as soon as it took shape, raking its razor-sharp claws down the other animal’s flank. Then it circled its prey, with appropriately feline grace, its glowing eyes the only thing separating it from the darkness.

Adrien was a brief flash of confusion in her mind before her head started spinning. It took a lot out of her to keep the spell going, but it was doing a good job of keeping the monsters at bay, giving Adrien and Marinette the chance to escape.

Hawkmoth’s visor appeared before her face.

“Where are you?” he demanded.

“The studio,” Mayura said. “Adrien is fine—”

“Get him home. _Now_.”

“Of course, sir,” she said.

Her heart sank as soon as she began to concentrate.

Adrien wasn’t there. He was nowhere in the building.

With all the fear and confusion around, she wouldn’t be able to locate him. She pushed open the bathroom door and ran through the studio. A jaw full of teeth snapped at her as she passed it by; luckily, the magic fan could be split apart into darts that she was surprised to find she could toss with perfect accuracy. It seemed the Peacock Miraculous came with several different perks.

The skirt flared behind her as she leapt onto a rooftop. Mayura stumbled a little as she caught her balance, Paris’s skyline spinning around her. She had never seen the city from this perspective – and now, having seen it, Mayura discovered that she might not be entirely comfortable with such heights.

She drew in a breath and closed her eyes. The distance helped, in ways she was still struggling to put into words. Almost, almost enough to let her pick off individual people out of over two million Parisians. But none of them were Adrien.

The blue-tinted visor appeared before her eyes.

“I can’t find him,” she said, wincing when she felt Hawkmoth’s rage bleed into fear. “I’ll keep looking.”

The boy couldn’t have gotten far. She cut off the communication and dropped down onto street level, the Miraculous magic absorbing whatever damage she might have suffered from the fall. It felt like diving back into a swimming pool, distorting her hearing and sight until she had trouble determining the source of the emotional signals she was intercepting.

A flare of rage, sharp and sudden, blinded her to everything else; she saw a feather drift from the blue sky and find its mark. It was a man, around fifty, stuck behind a steering wheel, unable to move past the roadblock caused by an abandoned car. When the feather reached him, the man slumped forward, unconscious, swerving onto a street-lamp as he lost his grip on the wheel. The seat-belts kept him in place, and he was – probably – unharmed, but what sprang from his rage was a massive purple bull, charging down the street.

The bull trampled everything in its path. It had charged the abandoned car, tossing it from the road and into nearby storefront as if it weighted nothing. She heard glass breaking and screams from inside the shop but felt no surge of pain, meaning that the people inside got away in time.

Mayura stood, frozen, before she remembered that she, too, was magic; temporarily, at least. Her darts could not penetrate thick skin but they grabbed the bull’s attention. It turned its massive head this way and that, fixing her with one glowing-eyed stare at the time, blowing clouds of steam from its flaring nostrils.

She backed a step and aimed for its eye.

The bull roared; its hooves hit the ground with such force that it split the pavement and the pipes underneath it, jets of water shooting upwards. Then the creature tossed its head, and charged.

The ground trembled; Mayura struggled to remain on her feet. She whipped five darts from her fan and tossed them blindly forward, but they did no more damage than a swarm of flies.

Behind her back she felt the cold, hard brick. Her chest expanded painfully. The building shook with such force that flakes of plaster were falling around her like snow. She was unable to consider any emotion other than her own fear.

Well, there was nothing else to do.

She blinked once and then ran forward. A metre away from the glowing head, she jumped into the air, hoping the Miraculous would propel her the way her human legs never could; and, indeed, wind rushed in her ears, and she slammed into the opposite alley wall.

Grace wasn’t her strongest point, or perhaps the damaged Peacock wasn’t working as well as it should. Mayura drew in a wheezing, pained breath, and tried not to think about how many ribs she had just broken. She was kneeling amidst glittering pieces of broken glass, her ears ringing with the force of the blow. Behind her, somebody was screaming, saying something – she caught a glimpse of terror-struck faces, she _felt_ the ground tremble as the bull charged again, heading for them.

There would be no jumping this time, else these people end up smeared all over the wall. She wasn’t sure if Ladybug’s cure could undo death; she sure as hell wasn’t willing to check.

As she stood up, however, she recognized someone familiar. Moments later, Hawkmoth dropped from the sky and sliced the bull’s head clean off. It dissolved into nothingness before hitting the ground; Hawkmoth landed with easy grace, rapier still in hand.

“You didn’t find him?” he asked quietly once she approached.

“No,” Mayura said. “I’m sorry.”

The onlookers have whipped out their phones. Hawkmoth audibly gritted his teeth.

“Smile,” he hissed. “We are about to trend on twitter.”

Mayura paid him no mind. The small blue feather was still on the ground, pulsating with magic. She picked it up and turned it between her fingers.

“I think it’s feeding on the host’s lifeforce,” she said. “At least partially. It would explain why the other Mayura can toss around so many of them—”

“How fascinating,” Hawkmoth said, contempt lacing his words. The onlookers kept a fearful distance, but he was a well-known figure by this point in time; soon enough they might start throwing rocks.

Mayura inhaled and cupped the feather between her hands. This was and wasn’t her magic; the tendrils holding the spell together unravelled at her gentle prodding.

As the feather vanished, she saw the man behind the steering wheel shift a fraction. He was regaining consciousness, his mind a hazy puddle of half-finished thoughts. But he would recover. She was reasonably certain of that.

“We need to go,” Hawkmoth said.

By the time they could take more than one step, however, Ladybug and Chat Noir were there. They landed on the opposite ends of the alley, surrounding them.

“It’s over, Hawkmoth!” Ladybug said.

Mayura’s Miraculous beeped, its light fading quickly. She had forgotten about the panther she had conjured to protect Adrien… But to have it happen _now_ was a cruel twist of fate. It wasn’t just her own identity she would be exposing; it was Hawkmoth’s. Everyone who might recognize her on sight would immediately know who she was working for.

He hadn’t noticed. No, his focus was on the two superheroes circling them, and on the rapier in his hand. Even as a human, he was a champion fencer.

“You assume this is my doing,” Hawkmoth said coldly.

Chat Noir laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry, we will take it up with the _other_ supervillain terrorizing Paris. Your evil twin, perhaps?”

“Something of the sort,” Hawkmoth said.

The Peacock Miraculous gave another beep. Mayura’s thoughts raced.

“Call them off,” Ladybug ordered her. “We know it’s your doing. You’ve done enough damage—”

The other Mayura worked _fast_. Every creature in the vicinity was converging on the four of them, including an elephant and a screeching bird of prey.

_How foolish_ , Mayura thought dimly when the wall behind her exploded, tossing her to the side like a rag doll. _I would have waited for us to fight. One side would surely win – the remaining two would be easy pickings—_

She spat out plaster and dust.

“Hawkmoth,” she said, hoarse. She felt his pain, close by – the Miraculous glowed and she called onto her powers once again, last shreds of energy forming the blue feather. It would protect him; she had strength enough to buy him time to escape.

With every flap of the giant moth’s wings, a gale knocked the charging animals back several feet. Hawkmoth took advantage of the diversion and jumped onto a balcony, scanning the rubble for Mayura.

Of course. He couldn’t leave her behind. Not without compromising his secret identity.

She stood up, legs shaking, and clung onto exposed bricks. The second use of her powers drained whatever remained of her strength. The Miraculous’s frantic beeping would not cease, but she held onto her transformation through sheer willpower.

“Stop it,” she heard from behind her. Something jammed painfully into her ribcage. “Stop it, or I’ll—”

“It isn’t me,” Mayura said tiredly.

Chat Noir could use Cataclysm on her Miraculous and she was incapable of fighting back. It would be over too soon.

Ladybug shouted something over the cacophony – Lucky Charm, no doubt. Mayura couldn’t see what it was, but she saw the magic yo-yo entangle the pack of wolves, and then watched as Hawkmoth hacked through them one by one while the superhero was distracted.

“What game are you two playing?” Chat Noir demanded.

Her vision swam. She felt Ladybug’s frustration, Hawkmoth’s rage, Chat Noir’s growing confusion. It all melted together in her head, impossible to separate from her own emotions.

“I don’t know,” Mayura whispered.

“Chat!” Ladybug shouted. Then, through gritted teeth: “And— _Hawkmoth_ —bleh. You’ll need to—”

“I’m here, m’lady!” Chat Noir somersaulted onto a charging bear and then, face split with a cocky grin, caught the falling Ladybug.

Mayura didn’t see what happened next. She clung to the wall, aware that if she fell, she’d not be able to get back up again. The brick was pleasantly solid and cool, even as a nearby explosion showered her in dust and splinters.

Then it was over; it was silence, everywhere around her, ringing in her ears.

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

The healing wave swept over Paris, mending cars, buildings, injuries. Her own broken ribs knitted themselves back together. Mayura startled when the deeper breath sent her head spinning; then she started to cough.

She had been thrown inside a flower store. The bewildered cashier found herself behind a register; a client dropped his bouquet on the floor, lilies and sunflowers and chrysanthemums—they were both staring at her, wide-eyed. Mayura gave them a polite nod and left the premises, stepping onto the sunlit street.

“ _Now_ you are going to explain what’s going on,” Chat Noir told Hawkmoth. He and Ladybug had cornered the man, cutting off possible escape routes.

“Am I,” Hawkmoth said, unbothered.

Ladybug’s Miraculous began to beep, low on power; she flinched and cast a desperate look at her partner.

“I’m still good to go,” Chat Noir said dangerously. “Cataclysm—”

Hawkmoth’s attention wasn’t on him. She sensed his concern blanketing her; saw him move, disregarding the two superheroes. And, as her legs gave out, she felt his arms around her.

Then the world went dark and Mayura felt nothing at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the very kind comments! ♥
> 
> **Warnings:** Some infidelity in this chapter. And actually this entire fic.

Nathalie woke up in her own bed, which was a definite comfort.

The room was pitch-black. Somebody had removed her glasses and placed them on a nightstand, where she located them after a few moments of fumbling. She must have slept through the day because the sky outside was dark, or as dark as it could get in Paris. Her throat was painfully dry and she was still wearing a blouse and slacks, the Miraculous pinned over her breast.

Duusu slept on a pillow by her head, curled in on herself. Nathalie tried not to disturb the Kwami as she got up.

Details of the battle were foggy, but she would assume it was long over. Other people’s emotions were still registering in her mind, one of them worryingly close; the very same apartment, in fact.

She opened her bedroom door and took the few short steps to the living space. It was all familiar sights: the dark navy couch with decorative red pillows, artwork on the walls, a few cups in the kitchen sink, laptop on the coffee table. And the odd element: on her couch, sitting as if he belonged there, was Gabriel Agreste. He had one ankle rested on his knee and busied himself with Nathalie’s knitting. The needles were flying in his hands, completing row upon row of perfect stitches.

He looked up when he heard her.

“Nathalie,” he said. For a long moment they just stared at one another. Then he resumed his handiwork, turning his gaze on the knitting. “I have to say, I couldn’t figure out what you were trying to make.”

“I wasn’t making anything in particular,” said Nathalie, who simply enjoyed the feeling of doing something with her hands after a long day of sending emails and arranging meetings.

“You weren’t?” M. Agreste frowned. “Well, it’s a sweater now.”

And a pretty one, at that, with an elaborate openwork pattern. One sleeve was missing but she couldn’t help but admire just how much he had gotten done while she slept.

“If you put it on I will make adjustments,” M. Agreste spoke. “Although the yarn is poor quality and this particular shade is too washed out for your complexion. What were you thinking when you bought it?”

“It was on sale, sir,” Nathalie said.

That further confused M. Agreste. “Are you dissatisfied with your salary?”

“Of course not.”

Why were they talking about this? Nathalie’s mind was still, for lack of a better word, wobbly; she perceived the world through a thick fog. Her throat remained dry and irritable, and she tried to clear it through coughing.

“Where is Adrien?” she asked. “Is he well?”

“He’s home,” M. Agreste said. “André drove him there shortly after the attack. He was unharmed.”

“I’m glad,” Nathalie said. “How did you—” her throat gave out and she began to cough in earnest, momentarily unable to catch her breath.

M. Agreste was worried. There was no denying that. She excused herself to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, hoping it would soothe her. Then she trotted back to the living space and took sip after sip.

“No offense, sir,” she spoke before she could think better of it. “But why are you in my house?”

The man barely looked up, halfway through the missing sleeve. Odd, that, since these days he mostly concerned himself with designing clothes rather than making them. Besides, his hatred of knitting had been pretty vocal back when he couldn’t afford to hire people to do it for him.

“Forgive me for not leaving you unconscious on the street,” he said.

“This isn’t—” Nathalie shook her head. “Thank you for saving me, sir. I appreciate that. I was just curious how you got here.” And also that he even knew where she lived.

She sensed his irritation without needing to look at him. This particular power was becoming bothersome. It wasn’t as if she needed magic to know that Gabriel Agreste was in a bad mood.

“If you must know,” he said. “You left a bathroom window open. I had Nooroo sneak through it.”

Nathalie sighed. “The keys were in my bag, sir.”

“I didn’t feel like looking for them,” M. Agreste said.

Her bag must have been left at the mansion. The tablet and suit jacket were on a chair, her shoes laid by the door.

Today was a mess from start to finish. She needed to find out exactly what happened but couldn’t muster the energy to ask. Instead, she poured them both a glass of white wine and settled on a couch as far away from her boss as possible. It was unsettling to have him in her space like this, uninvited; although she owed him some leeway for having saved her life twice in one day.

M. Agreste examined the sweater with a critical eye.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find Adrien any sooner,” Nathalie said after a tentative sip of her wine. “I’m still trying to figure out these powers.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he said, leaving her to wonder which sentence he was referring to.

“Has something happened after I passed out?” she asked.

“Yes,” M. Agreste snapped. “You were asleep. For almost twelve hours.”

Twelve _hours_? That—that didn’t seem right.

M. Agreste set down the needles and buried his face in his hands.

“It happened to Emilie, too,” he said quietly. “This thing slowly leeched the life out of her, until the day she couldn’t wake up at all…”

He sat, unmoving, hollowed out by misery and guilt. Nathalie’s heart gave a painful, sympathetic tug. Regardless of propriety, she moved to sit closer to him; she embraced him; she did all of those stupid, stupid things, like rest her cheek on his shoulder and hold him in her arms, hoping that physical contact would offer some measure of comfort to the man who avoided it all cost.

It was different than the brief time she had held him in the past. She realized this too late. Back then, she could still pretend it was impersonal. She could, and did, walk away without issue. Right now she got too close; his chest rose and fell with every breath, brushing against her own.

It occurred to her that even in the midst of despair, Gabriel Agreste was impeccably dressed. He wore a blazer, a cashmere tie, an immaculate white Italian cut of his own design. And he smelled good, of expensive cologne and something more primal and masculine that Nathalie should _definitely_ not be noticing if this was to remain a friendly and platonic gesture.

Her breath hitched when M. Agreste pulled back – not to shove her away, as she thought he might, but to rest his forehead against hers.

“Nathalie,” he whispered, more a sigh than a word; his warm, damp breath ghosted over her skin. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, sir,” she said, eyes drifting shut.

They were so close, he could surely feel everything she felt; but it hardly made a difference, because Nathalie didn’t know what she was feeling. She was aware of the rush of blood in her ears, the heat pooling low in her stomach; and his palm splayed at the small of her back, fingers digging into skin through the fabric of her blouse.

He drew in a pained breath, not quite a kiss; and he touched her hair, her face. Nathalie felt the hot sting of metal against her cheek. She thought it might be burned permanently into her skin if she allowed this to go any further, there for all to see, branding her a homewrecker: his wedding ring.

Would it be worth it? Her treacherous mind whispered that it’s been so long, not even the Kwamis and their magic could bring Emilie back; that she herself might pay with her life for it to happen. And that he wanted her too, that he needed her, his desire bleeding through the mental bond between them until she couldn’t separate it from her own.

Their lips met, soft and warm and perfect; with every kiss she felt more and more light-headed, drunk on this bizarre new sensation. M. Agreste pulled her gently into his lap. She settled her hands on his chest, enjoying the frenzied beat of his heart—he shivered when she kissed his neck, murmuring a name that could have been her own—he found her mouth again, held onto her just as desperately as he had earlier, and she half-remember wishing he’d never let go—

Someone cleared their throat, loudly and rather pointedly.

Nathalie and M. Agreste jumped back as if burned. Duusu, green with disgust, was sitting on the back of the couch, only a couple of inches from M. Agreste’s head. Nooroo hovered nearby, anxious and embarrassed.

“Duusu,” Nathalie said in a strained voice. “Would you mind going back to the bedroom…?”

The Kwami considered it for a long moment, or at least pretended to.

“No,” she said eventually. “I’m comfortable right here, thank you.”

“Sorry, Master,” Nooroo mumbled under the weight of M. Agreste’s glare.

Nathalie looked at M. Agreste’s flushed face and the faint imprint of her lipstick on his mouth. She looked down at the crumbled fabric of her blouse, his hands locked around her hips; and the glint of gold on his finger.

There was no way she could get away with her dignity intact. He wasn’t helping, still holding onto her, keeping her right where she wanted to belong.

“You should go, sir,” she said, smoothing his suit and fixing the artistic sprawl of his scarf. Anything, anything not to look into his eyes.

He loosened his grip on her hips but his hands lingered, heavy and hot. He wasn’t meeting her gaze either.

“And don’t come back,” Duusu added helpfully.

“I don’t recall anyone here asking for your opinion,” M. Agreste snapped, his head whipping around to stare at the blue Kwami.

“No. But you should have. See, there are other things I wanted to talk to you about,” Duusu jumped onto Nathalie’s shoulder. “It’s good that you are sitting because this might take a while—”

She had had enough. Nathalie scooped up the Kwami and rose. M. Agreste did not try to stop her, for which she was grateful.

It was suddenly to hot in the apartment. She made her way to the kitchen, where the lights were turned off and the window cracked open, letting in the cold night breeze.

“This wasn’t necessary,” she murmured.

“I beg to differ,” Duusu said, indignant. She looked at Nathalie with her huge, expressive eyes; and, as she looked, they filled with tears and her aura took on a bluish, anxious hue. “You are mad at me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not mad,” Nathalie sighed. She pecked the Kwami’s head to prove her point.

She didn’t turn around to look, but she heard him move around: his shoes, his phone, his coat. With some effort, she could block her magic powers. She couldn’t be in his head right now; she _couldn’t_. What if the only things she could find there were guilt and relief?

That would be a good thing, she told herself firmly.

“Nathalie,” M. Agreste said, pausing just as he was about to leave her apartment. “We should—perhaps we should discuss—”

“Or we could _not_ discuss it, sir, and then continue letting it not affect our professional relationship.”

Nathalie’s voice was perfectly calm and steady. She was even able to face him, at his damn handsome face and grey-blue eyes that inexplicably softened when she walked up to him. Yet again, she had allowed herself to misinterpret that look.

It seemed like he would say something else, but thankfully thought better of it.

“Good night, Nathalie,” he said.

“Good night, sir,” she said.

She locked the door behind him and went back to the couch, where she downed the two glasses of wine.

Duusu stopped herself before she could settle at Nathalie’s shoulder, watching her anxiously.

“Don’t be sad, Nathalie,” she pleaded. “This would be a mistake, you said so yourself!”

“Probably,” Nathalie replied. “Probably. It’s just—” she sighed. “It’s a mistake I really, really wanted to make.”

The Kwami didn’t understand but she was right; she was right and Nathalie was stupid.

Well, she’d have to be smarter in the future. After all, there were things in life more important than Gabriel Agreste.

At the moment Nathalie couldn’t quite remember what they were, but she was sure it would come back to her eventually.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Mild violence.

One week passed. Then another. Nathalie was this close to believing the other Peacock user finally wore themselves out. Maybe then things could go back to normal.

She was wrong.

The third wave crashed over the city one day at noon. Monsters sprung up from every corner, hellbent on destruction. Ladybug and Chat Noir did their best to contain them, aided by three other Miraculous holders: Fox, Bee, Turtle. Nathalie watched the news report on her tablet for a few minutes, then paused it to lift her gaze up at M. Agreste.

“And we are just going to stay here?” she asked.

“Yes,” M. Agreste said. “The broken Peacock has its limits. Ladybug can fix the damage afterwards. No harm done.”

“You are not serious.”

M. Agreste glared at her. “What would you have me do? Leap into action? Need I remind you that the last time I did we came dangerously close to being unmasked?”

“I know,” she said. “And I’m very sorry about this.”

She left him to do his designing and went back to her desk. It was, however, impossible to concentrate on her work. The commotion in the city was growing stronger by the second, pressing on her mind from every possible angle. Restless and irritable, Duusu had no words of sympathy; she wrapped herself in Nathalie’s scarf and hid in one of the desk drawers. Had Nathalie been only a few inches tall, she might have done the same.

When she re-entered his office, M. Agreste frowned. “What is it?”

“This could be over much more quickly if you used your powers to transform people,” Nathalie said.

“Oh, we could do that!” Nooroo said excitedly, emerging from a fold of M. Agreste’s clothing. “Master, this is exactly what you _should_ be doing—”

“Silence,” M. Agreste said. The Kwami obeyed instantly. Then the man’s eyes travelled from Nathalie to Nooroo. “Are the two of you insane? Who will trust Hawkmoth when I offer them magic powers?”

“Fair point,” Nathalie said.

She massaged her temples. The Peacock Miraculous was pulsating faintly, in rhythm with the flares of destructive emotions that gave life to the monsters; and she felt fear, confusion, terror, despair, _everywhere_.

M. Agreste’s grey-blue eyes were almost sympathetic.

“Now you see why I don’t go outside with this thing,” he said.

Nathalie shook her head. She had never suffered of migraines so she had no real comparison, but she imagined it might have been like one.

For the first time since the ill-fated night two weeks ago, M. Agreste touched her. It went through her like an electric shock. He steered her gently onto an armchair and guided her to take a seat.

It’d be easier if he felt nothing for her, but he _did_. His gaze was made softer with concern, his hands held Nathalie’s shoulders; this couldn’t go on for a minute longer.

“Akumatize me,” Nathalie asked. “I’m not going to risk transforming again, but you could give me any power you want.”

“Pointless. You are not nearly angry enough.”

“Master, this really isn’t a requirement when you use the Butterfly properly—” Nooroo began.

“Her mind is a mess right now,” M. Agreste said. “This will not work.”

She buried her face in her hands. Even M. Agreste got lost in the cacophony of feelings she had no choice but to pick up on, and he was so close to her—she could smell his cologne again—but everything else was—a mess—indeed, a mess—

She thought she was daydreaming again, but no; M. Agreste wasn’t undressing her, he was simply unbuttoning her suit jacket to unpin the Peacock brooch hidden underneath it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, a touch of hesitation in his voice. His fingers were hovering dangerously close to her breast. “I lost you there for a moment. Perhaps you are too sensitive for this thing.”

The voices did not disappear but faded into a distant echo. She could push them out and get on with her day. But without the Miraculous, she was just Nathalie. If anything happened, Nathalie wouldn’t be able to stop it; Mayura could.

“Don’t,” she said, leaning forward. The brooch was in M. Agreste’s open palm and she touched it without thinking, curling her fingers in his warm hand. “I’d rather keep it.”

“You shouldn’t,” he said.

“Sir,” Nathalie said. “What if they actually succeed in defeating Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

M. Agreste smiled, humourless and quite bitter. “Impossible. I’ve been trying for almost two years.”

“Maybe they’ve learned from your mistakes.”

The suggestion offended him. She had known it would when she made it, and yet something compelled her to say it anyway. The fact that they were still, technically, holding hands, and that M. Agreste knelt before her so that they could remain at eye-level – well, it certainly wasn’t helping.

He didn’t protest when she took the brooch and pinned it back to her shirt but his displeasure was apparent.

“Nathalie.”

She liked it when he said her name. It was such a pleasant, raspy sound—she shook her head and forced herself to focus.

“The news reports aren’t looking great, sir,” she said, keeping her voice matter-of-fact. She found the relevant website and unpaused the video transmission. “See?”

Ladybug and Chat Noir had been caught by a giant purple snake, almost fifty meters long. M. Agreste watched, frowning, as the two heroes struggled to free themselves from its tight coils. The monster had plenty of speed, strength, and agility to be formidable in its own right, but it was also magic. As it grasped Chat Noir, the geometric pattern on its scales began to glow, sapping the strength from the boy.

“Oh, for the love of—” M. Agreste said. “Nooroo, dark wings rise!”

Transformed, Hawkmoth helped her to his feet.

“Stay here,” he said firmly. “We’ll remain in contact. This shouldn’t take very long.”

“Of course, sir,” Nathalie said.

Hawkmoth gave her an arch, displeased glare.

“Don’t look so smug,” he said. “I’m only doing this because no one can succeed where I have failed.”

“Naturally,” Nathalie said drily.

She watched him leave the office through a window and run off, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with superhuman speed. Then she made her way to the butterfly lair and waited for Hawkmoth’s visor to appear before her face, allowing her to see what he saw.

***

Hawkmoth arrived at the scene, striking a dramatic pose on a rooftop. Once the two struggling heroes noticed him, he gave them a polite smile.

“Good morning, children,” he said. “Would you like me to akumatize you?”

“Go to hell!” Ladybug called out.

“Are you sure?” Hawkmoth stretched out his hand. A butterfly appeared above it, flapping its pale wings. “Any power you could possibly want, right here at your disposal. I’m sure we will be able to agree on a price.”

“We don’t have time for you, Hawkmoth,” Ladybug said through gritted teeth. “But if you could stay where you are—”

The giant snake finally noticed him. With its body now almost entirely vertical, it raised its head to look at Hawkmoth with the unsettling reptile eyes. The pronged tongue emerged along with a low hissing sound; then the monster unhinged its jaws, as if to swallow the man along with the entire building.

It struck fast as lightning, but Hawkmoth was prepared. He jumped onto another rooftop and watched calmly as the monster crushed part of the roof where he had just stood.

“Stop enjoying this,” Nathalie said.

“Oh, like you are not,” Hawkmoth replied.

He was in a pretty good mood, all things considered. The two superheroes had a difficult time clinging to consciousness; Chat Noir was covered by the tightening coils almost entirely, unable to move.

Hawkmoth sighed. “All right. So be it.”

He took a flying leap off the roof. The snake unlocked its jaws again in anticipation of an easy prey; but Hawkmoth pulled the rapier out of his cane while still in the air and twisted around, impaling the monster’s body with his blade. He slid downwards, splitting the scaly skin open with an unpleasant, squelching sound.

The snake writhed from pain and rage. Once its coils loosened Ladybug managed to free herself, pulling Chat Noir out of harm’s way as she did so.

Hawkmoth landed lazily on the street. Once there he waited for the snake to attack him and, with unhurried, easy grace, cut its massive head off.

“You couldn’t have started with that?” Ladybug asked, decidedly unimpressed. Chat Noir was coughing.

“You’re welcome,” Hawkmoth said drily. “Now, I realize being indebted to me might make you uncomfortable, but we can settle this very easily if you let me have your Miraculous.”

“Oh, of course,” Chat Noir said. “Here, come and take it. Cataclysm—”

“We don’t have time, kitty,” Ladybug said. She glared at Hawkmoth. “If you’re not going to help, at least stay out of our way.”

The two superheroes were off, headed for another monster that was rampaging a street several blocks away. Hawkmoth jumped onto a roof to get a better vantage point.

“Are you coming back, sir?” Nathalie asked.

“No point,” said Hawkmoth. “Might as well stay here and observe. I have to say, the Peacock is a lot more versatile than I—”

She felt a lurch, a stab of pain and fear; the mental link cut off abruptly and Nathalie fell down to her knees.

“Hawkmoth?” she asked.

There was nothing, just the flutter of butterfly wings.

“Sir!”

She couldn’t feel him. This should be easy, with how well she knew the man, but it _wasn’t_. Maybe it was the effect of the Miraculous; maybe it was the overabundance of emotions wrecking the city, because she couldn’t feel Adrien, either. Maybe it was Nathalie herself, and her inability to use the Peacock—

“Duusu,” she whispered. “Transform me.”

Mayura ran across the roofs and leapt over the gaps between buildings, wind rushing in her ears. She was where he had been just moments ago; same chimney, same antenna, same view. But he was nowhere in sight. There was no blood on the slates, thankfully, and so signs of struggle. At least, to Mayura’s untrained eye.

She couldn’t _feel him_.

Ladybug and Chat Noir were nearby. They startled when she dropped down next to them.

“Oh. It’s you—”

“Have you seen Hawkmoth?” Mayura asked.

Ladybug blinked at her. Then her eyes narrowed.

“No, and frankly, I don’t care where he is,” she said. “Why are you helping him?”

“It’s a long story,” said Mayura. She didn’t feel like divulging almost fifteen years of repressed feelings to these two children. “I can’t find him.”

Chat Noir tapped the baton against his shoulder, considering.

“I saw one of those birds carry him off,” he said finally.

He pointed upwards, up, at the sky. This was a direction Mayura hadn’t even bothered checking, but she saw them now: giant birds of prey, their translucent feathers in cool shades of purple, almost invisible against the blue sky. They were patrolling high above street level.

“Oh,” she said. “ _Oh._ ”

Miraculous or not, a fall from such height would kill him.

“You couldn’t stop it?” she asked. It was suspicious how steady her voice was; how hollow she was feeling.

“It’s _Hawkmoth_ ,” Chat Noir said. “Who cares what happens to him?”

Mayura sighed.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair of me.”

She plucked a feather from her fan and blew on it gently. As far as she knew, there was no reason for it not to work.

And it did. Her own monstrous ally took the shape of a giant peacock, just as she had been hoping. It stood still as a statue while she climbed onto its back and buried her hands in its iridescent feathers. Then it stretched the massive wings, the fan-like tail, and took flight with effortless grace.

It seemed to respond directly to her thoughts. Mayura bent her head reflexively, both to ease the flow of air and to protect her eyes from the wind. She felt quite secure on top of the magical creature; or rather she would, if its transparent body didn’t allow her to look down at the streets and buildings rushing below them. And it was only her own magic between herself and a hundred metre drop onto concrete—she swallowed, mouth filling with thick saliva, and reached for her powers.

Now that she was far above the commotion of the city, her awareness spread out in every direction across the empty skies. Then she felt the familiar mix of emotions: irritation, touch of fear, some curiosity. Hawkmoth was in a sour mood but not in immediate danger.

The peacock adjusted their course with a sweep of its wings, the long tail sailing far behind them. They flew on.

***

It was an abandoned warehouse in a rundown neighbourhood. Of course it was.

Mayura jumped off the peacock’s back and then dismissed the spell. It had been draining her strength and she might need all of it for whatever she found inside.

The huge metal door had been eaten away by rot and disuse. She couldn’t push them but she could fit herself through the narrow gap, stepping over a pile rubble. The room opened around her. Beams of light shot through the holes in the roof, illuminating nothing but rubbish and dust.

And Hawkmoth, talking to someone.

“Oh, look,” the person said. “Your girlfriend’s here.”

The Peacock Miraculous glowed on her chest. It was a woman, sitting cross-legged on a steel beam. Between the mask and the high collar, it was impossible to judge her age or appearance. She wore a coat with a long tail, reminiscent of peacock feathers, along with trousers and knee-high boots. The fan lay folded across her lap and she tapped it lazily with her gloved hand.

“That’s an overstatement,” Hawkmoth said.

“Is it?” the other Peacock – other Mayura – asked, tilting her head to the side. “To be fair, I couldn’t care less. But she’s very thoughtful to have come here of her own accord.”

“Let him go,” Mayura said.

“Am I hurting him?” the woman asked. “Is he injured? No? Then shut up.”

Indeed unharmed, Hawkmoth frowned when Mayura stepped closer to him. He had explicitly told her not to transform, and she sensed he was upset about that. But if he cared that much, he might have done a better job of keeping himself out of trouble.

“And she obeys,” the woman was definitely amused by now. “Good. You see, I was _very_ close to gaining Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculous before Hawkmoth’s intervention. But the two of you keep on meddling, and what for?” her eyes closed briefly. “I know he wants that miracle more than anything in the world. I could feel that from across the city. So I decided to invite him for a little chat and we came to an interesting conclusion just before you dropped in.”

“What conclusion?” Mayura asked. “What is it that _you_ want?”

The woman’s grin was nothing short of psychotic.

“Power,” she said. “World domination. That sort of thing.”

Her emotional state was coming through loud and clear: a gnawing pit of bottomless hunger and fear. No, Mayura supposed only absolute power could mend a wound like that. And the woman wanted it with every fibre of her being—

She shivered. The woman noticed that, because her eyes narrowed.

“None of this needs to concern you,” she said. “Our wishes aren’t mutually exclusive. If you start helping me, I will let you have yours. Although,” she sneered. “It is quite disappointing. A literal miracle, and the best you two could come up with is one dead woman?”

“She’s not dead,” Hawkmoth said immediately.

“That’s even worse,” she replied. “But ultimately unimportant. So? Do we have a deal?”

He was considering it. He was _actually_ considering it. Mayura was overcome with a sudden desire to punch the man in the face.

“First I’d rather know what you are planning to do with all that power,” she said.

She was subjected to a long scrutiny, and then finally a look of uncomprehending disbelief.

“What I’m going to do with absolute power? I’m going to _have_ it. I don’t understand the question. Or maybe you don’t understand the concept.”

“No, I do,” Mayura said. “I get the appeal, I’m just not clear on the details.”

“Details? Details! You could change the whole world with such power!”

“Yes, but into what?” Mayura asked. “I’m asking in case I’ll need to organize my own schedule around it.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a bit selfish of you, isn’t it? Or maybe you are so uncomfortable with the idea of me changing the world because you realize you are what’s wrong with it?”

“Does it matter?” Mayura asked. “Because there’s two of us and only one of you.”

“Oh?” a slow, lazy smile spread on her face. “ _Is_ there two of you? We haven’t heard from Hawkmoth in a while.”

Mayura turned to Hawkmoth. He hesitated; she could see that. She would plead with him to be reasonable, but he never could be where Emilie was concerned.

He met her gaze and gritted his teeth.

“I can’t trust you,” he said, remarkably steady. “You’re on your own.”

Whatever the other woman wanted to say next, she was interrupted by something landing on the roof high above them. It wasn’t loud but it shook the run-down construction, raining dust and splinters on the three of them.

Moments later she saw a flash of red and black. Ladybug and Chat Noir jumped through the ceiling and landed side-by-side.

“What are you two inept fools doing here?” Hawkmoth asked.

Ladybug glared at him.

“We came to see if you needed rescuing,” she said with some difficulty.

“How heroic,” the other Peacock said.

Her smile was worrying; there was nothing remotely sane about it.

“Oh,” Ladybug blanched, looking between the two Peacock holders. “So there really is two of you… the Guardian said it was a possibility.”

“Hah! And what else did dear old Master Fu tell you about me?”

The girl bit her lip.

“That you used to be Ladybug,” she said. “Until you misused your powers—”

“I _used_ them,” the woman said very, very quietly. “Every day for over ten years. I risked my life to help people. And all I got in return was that old bastard demanding my Miraculous back.”

Rage was spilling out of the woman, terrifying in its intensity. Hawkmoth sensed it as well; he moved to stand between Mayura and its source, anticipating an attack.

Yes. Running – they ought to be running. If only she could get her legs to move—

The blue feather materialized in the air. Before the four of them could react, it found its mark in Hawkmoth.

She watched him collapse, drained of all life in a heartbeat. Then, with a deafening rush of wind, hundreds of birds materialized inside the warehouse; a hurricane of them, spinning in a wide circle, beating their wings, screeching—

Mayura fell on top of Hawkmoth’s body, shielding them both from beaks and claws. But he was the source of the monsters, not their target; she understood it the second the children did, but it was too late for them to run or take cover.

Magpies, it was magpies; she saw clearly now. They flocked around Ladybug, who screamed and fell to her knees, covering her head from the onslaught. Droplets of blood fell on her lap as the birds tore the earrings from her ears—

Chat Noir screamed, too, and clutched his hand to his chest as his transformation washed away from him in a surge of green light. And—she knew his voice, his face, his pain—she knew _him_ —

Acting on pure instinct, Mayura ripped every dart she could fit into her palm and tossed them in Adrien’s direction. Her aim was impeccable while she was transformed; the birds flickered and disappeared once struck.

A silver ring glinted in the air and fell to the floor. Adrien threw himself down and caught it before any of the enchanted magpies could get to it; Mayura’s darts kept the birds from attacking again, but it was already too late.

The other Peacock was down as well. Conjuring the magpies took what was left of her strength, and now one of them circled the air above her. It dropped Ladybug’s earrings, and the woman reached out and snatched them as they fell.

Slowly but surely, she managed to stand.

“See?” she said in a quiet voice. “Neither you nor Master Fu can keep these away from me.”

Had she had the strength, she might finish them off right then and there. But the damaged Miraculous drained her; she was forced to make her escape.

It all happened so fast. Mayura’s head was spinning. She tried to make sense of Adrien’s presence, Hawkmoth’s unmoving body—and the girl, her trembling shoulders, as she lowered her hands from her face.

“Oh no,” Adrien whispered, rushing to her side. “Marinette—”

She was bleeding. Both children were injured and clinging to each other, equally shocked, equally terrified.

“Are you all right?” Mayura asked, making her way towards them.

“I—I think so,” Marinette replied numbly.

“Do you have tissues?” Mayura asked.

The girl did, in her purse. She winced when Mayura gently brushed her hair back and dabbed at the lobules of her ears, and then the cuts on her face and forearms.

“These are mostly superficial,” Mayura said. “Your ears might need stitching, but they’ll heal. We have to get you to the hospital—”

“No,” Marinette said. “No. You don’t understand. I don’t have my Miraculous—I can’t undo the damage—”

Purple magpies were flying in circles above them. The other monsters could still be ravaging the city.

“We’ll get them back,” Adrien said vehemently. “We will find her and get them back, I promise.”

The two teenagers looked at one another, realizing perhaps for the first time their true identities. But this was neither the time nor the place to discuss it.

Mayura kept the tissue pressed tight to the girl’s ears in order to staunch the bleeding.

“You need to call your parents,” she said. “Ask them to pick you up.”

“No,” Marinette said. “They won’t be safe with these monsters around.”

“You lost your Miraculous,” Adrien said, squeezing her hand. “You have to get home—”

“Master Fu can give me another one,” Marinette said, climbing to her feet. “I’m going to see him. Now. Adrien—Chat—you have to fight until I get there—”

After a long, shared look, Adrien nodded.

“I will,” he said. “I will. Hurry up.”

Marinette wiped the blood from her face and left the warehouse, filled with nothing but grim determination. Adrien watched her leave but then he, too, nodded to himself. His ring finger had been scratched and bloodied by the birds’ claws, so Mayura wrapped a tissue around it and the boy slipped the Miraculous on his other hand.

“Are you coming with me?” he asked.

He looked so much like Emilie; he was so much like her, every bit as kind and brave as she had been. And now he was about to run off into danger – just like he had been doing for so long; fighting against Hawkmoth—

_Good lord_ —

“You can’t go,” Mayura said. “Adrien, please. I’ll take you home—”

“What are you talking about?” Adrien asked. “Come _on_. The quicker we are done, the better.”

“No,” Mayura said. “Wait. Please. I—”

His bright green eyes shifted from her face to Hawkmoth’s body. Mayura felt the bottom drop from her stomach.

He hadn’t moved, not an inch. And she couldn’t even force herself to go there and check on him.

Adrien could. He noticed her hesitation and walked the short distance, grabbing Hawkmoth’s shoulder to turn him flat on his back.

“He’s breathing,” he said after a moment. “I think he’s just unconscious. Isn’t that what happened to the others?”

The first few beats of her heart were painful, thudding against her chest. Mayura took a deeper, shaking breath.

“Yes, I suppose it makes sense. I was foolish.”

She held up her fan and ripped darts from it. One by one, she tossed them at the magpies until the last bird vanished into nothingness. The glowing blue feather spiralled down and landed gently on the dirty floor, right next to Hawkmoth.

Adrien was still there, considering. He came to a decision and reached out, his hand hovering above the Butterfly brooch.

“No,” Mayura said. “Don’t do that. Please.”

Adrien spun around.

“Why not?” he asked. “I deserve to know, don’t I? You will tell him who I am—”

“I won’t,” Mayura said. “I promise.”

“Why should I trust you?”

Because the knowledge would break M. Agreste’s heart; because she would never do that to him. But Adrien couldn’t know.

“It’s a lot to ask, isn’t it?” Mayura smiled faintly. “I can’t tell you my reasons. But I swear, your secret is safe with me.”

Adrien was silent. “Do we know each other?” he asked.

Her pause was too long; all she could do was give a weak nod. “You’re Adrien Agreste. Everyone knows you.”

“No, it’s not that,” he said urgently. “The previous time you summoned one of these creatures to protect me. _Why_?”

“I had to,” Mayura said.

“I haven’t seen you do it for anyone other than Hawkmoth,” Adrien pressed on.

“My Miraculous is damaged and it’s draining to use it,” Mayura said. “The other woman is much, much more proficient with these. I have to use it sparingly—”

“You were protecting _me_ ,” Adrien said, stepping closer and closer. “You _know_ _me_. And I need to know who you are—”

She caught him by the shoulders before he had the chance to take off her brooch.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “We have to go, Adrien. You promised Marinette.”

“I need to know,” he repeated. His eyes gleamed with tears; his voice was small, hopeful. “Mum?”

Mayura blinked, several times. Then she squeezed the boy’s shoulders and gave a feeble, stuttering, half-laugh.

“Oh, _Adrien_ ,” she said. “No—no, you got it all wrong. I’m not Emilie. I’m sorry. I’m not her.”

Whatever hope he had had, it was snuffed out instantly. Adrien’s face fell, his entire body sagging in her hold. She held him and waited until his breathing evened out.

“But you knew her, too,” he whispered.

Then he caught the Peacock brooch and ripped it from her chest.

Nathalie tried to step away, but it was too late; her transformation dropped.

Adrien didn’t even seem surprised.

“I see,” he said tiredly. “I see. And he is—” he glanced at Hawkmoth; a shudder run through his body and he forced the air out of his chest. “I—I need to go. Marinette needs me.”

The Peacock Miraculous dropped from his limp fingers. Nathalie called out after him, but he didn’t hear her, transforming into Chat Noir and then heading straight for the city.

Nathalie took a moment to regain her composure. Yes. First things first.

She cupped the blue feather between her hands and unravelled its magic. Hawkmoth was waking up, his gaze unfocused, propping himself up on his elbows.

“What happened?” he asked. “Where is—”

“I can’t explain now,” Nathalie said calmly. “Duusu, transform me.”

He caught her outstretched hand and she pulled him to his feet. She could sense his confusion but she shoved it to the back of her mind.

“Come on,” Mayura said. “We need to help save the city.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Even more infidelity, you know how it goes.

Chat Noir was fighting Ladybug. It was broadcast on every screen in the city, the people sharing the news in bewildered voices. They suspected a trick, another Akuma; they were not wrong.

When they got there, Chat Noir was still holding his own, but barely. Ladybug had conjured a sword and hacked it relentlessly against Chat’s baton, showering him with sparks. They danced around one another, switching places so fast that tossing darts anywhere near them might injure the boy.

Mayura plucked a feather from her fan and called onto the visor.

“Stop distracting me,” Chat Noir ground out, stumbling under the force of the next blow. He got himself sorted out very quickly, with a half-pirouette and a high-kick to the woman’s stomach.

“I can help—”

“I don’t need your help!”

Hawkmoth scoffed and leapt into action before Mayura could stop him. She felt the rush of hatred from the boy, but they stood a better chance now that they had Ladybug flanked.

Up until a point, anyway. Ladybug grinned and gave a theatrical bow. Then, with a glow of magic, her sword split into two weapons that she handled with an expert’s ease.

Never mind that the Peacock wasn’t suited for close combat, Mayura couldn’t leave the two of them. She was left to stand there, uselessly, as father and son fought side by side.

“What are you doing?” someone asked.

It was a Miraculous user, but not one she had ever seen before. Could it be a Dragon? She wasn’t well-versed in the lore and didn’t know if there even was one, or what powers it might have had. The one thing she was relatively sure of was that it was Marinette wearing it, and that the girl was furious.

“Go and destroy these monsters,” she said. “We can handle her.”

“What about the other Miraculous holders?”

Ex-Ladybug had managed to entangle Hawkmoth in her yo-yo. She was _laughing_.

“I don’t know,” Marinette said. “I think—”

But Mayura saw it first: the three Miraculous were already in Ladybug’s possession. They had spent too long at that damn warehouse.

Beneath her mask, Marinette went pale. Then she ran forward and leapt into the fight. She and Chat Noir – Adrien – worked with ease born of long partnership, attacking and defending in perfect synchrony. Hawkmoth was the odd one out, used to fighting against them rather than with them; he was uncomfortable as a member of a team.

Nevertheless, the three managed to corner Ladybug, who looked decidedly unconcerned.

“Oh no,” the woman staggered with mock theatricality. “Chat Noir and Hawkmoth, working together against Ladybug! How could you betray me like this, Chat?”

“You are _not_ Ladybug!”

“Give up! You’re surrounded!”

“Dear me,” Ladybug smirked. “And here I was, thinking it was my lucky day…”

She tossed the two swords upwards, letting them spin in the air. They glowed, melted together – and then came falling down.

It was a _tank_. Massive, red, black-spotted, _tank_ dropped onto the ground. Its tracks bit into the asphalt, and it crushed two cars with a horrible screech of metal. No one was in them, thankfully. The onlookers were sensible enough to have started running a while ago, urged on by Marinette’s Dragon.

Mayura backed away a step when the tower swung around in her direction and stared down the mouth of the long barrel.

“You can’t fire that here!” Marinette said.

“Can’t I?” Ladybug asked.

Hawkmoth’s arm was around Mayura’s waist. He was yanking her to the side, his sword pointed at the ex-superhero.

“This is low, even by my standards,” he said in a cold, derisive voice.

“What, winning? Yes, I can tell it could be a novel experience,” Ladybug jumped onto the tower. “You will terrorize Paris no longer, Hawkmoth!”

As she opened the hatch, the metal structure beneath her began to dissolve. Chat Noir’s Cataclysm was eating through it; he brandished his baton and stared at her, grim.

To his astonishment, Ladybug’s smile grew only wider.

“Oh dear,” she said. “That’s it for my Lucky Charm. And who will undo the damage you four caused today?” She shook her head. “So irresponsible.”

Chat Noir’s hand faltered. Then he regained his strength and said, through gritted teeth, “Undo it. Now.”

“There is no point, really,” Ladybug replied. “Your endless fighting will just destroy everything again. You know what would be a better idea?” She grinned at each of them. “If you all surrendered your Miraculous to me. Then I’ll happily fix your mistakes. Hawkmoth won’t endanger Paris any longer, you children won’t have to fight him. And the city will be better off for it.”

No one moved. Ladybug’s smile faltered.

“You have until tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow, I won’t be as generous.”

“Don’t let her escape!” Marinette called out.

It was too late: one of the birds swooped down and Ladybug jumped onto its back, flying off into the sky. They would have followed her, but every monster in the vicinity was converging in on them: tigers, bears, lions, wolfs, monkeys. By the time they hacked their way through, Ladybug was long gone.

***

Without the Lucky Charm, everyone injured in the attack had to be taken to the hospital; dozens were unconscious, drained by the spell that brought forth the monsters; and the property damage would be counted in millions of euros.

Mayura and Hawkmoth stumbled to the Agreste mansion through the open window of the lair, late into the evening. M. Agreste dropped his transformation almost instantly, but she stayed behind.

“I’ll be right there,” she said. The man simply nodded, too worn out to argue.

With him gone, she took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was easier to search the city this way. Eventually she came across a familiar mind and conjured the blue visor.

“What do you want?” Adrien asked, hostile and reluctant. He remained as Chat Noir, perched on a rooftop overlooking the city.

“Come home,” Mayura said. “Please.”

“Thanks, but no.”

“Adrien,” she said. “Your father will be worried once he discovers you’re not here—”

His rage came through the mental link loud and clear. Mayura winced.

Right. Maybe it wasn’t the best time to bring up M. Agreste.

“Come home,” she repeated. “Please.”

“What’s the point?” he asked. “You can find me anyway, can’t you?”

“Yes, I can, but I don’t want to have to,” she said. “I realize you need space, but you are still in danger—”

“Right. My Miraculous,” Adrien snorted. “And I thought the idea was to _avoid_ the supervillain trying to steal it.”

“Your father—”

“I need to see Marinette,” Adrien interrupted her. “After that—after that I’ll consider it.”

Mayura nodded. “I see. Thank you.”

She dropped the visor and the transformation. This time she remained conscious, but almost wished she hadn’t been so. Her insides felt painfully twisted upon themselves and not even the violent bout of coughing could relieve the pressure on her chest. Nathalie gasped for air, pressing her forehead to the blissfully cold floor of the lair.

It faded with time. Soon she could trust her limbs to move again. Once up, she dusted her suit and pushed several bobby pins into her hair, securing the knot at the nape of her neck. This was as put together as she could be expected to look under the circumstances.

***

An hour later, the front door slammed.

M. Agreste made his way to the foyer, Nathalie close on his heels.

“Adrien,” the man said when he recognized the boy. His relief was almost palpable in the hitch of his voice, the sudden relaxation of his posture.

Being him, he ruined it almost immediately.

“Where have you been?” he demanded. “I couldn’t reach you. It’s too dangerous to run around the city right now—”

Adrien neither answered nor acknowledged them in any way. His mouth was pressed tight, eyes cast downwards; he shoved past his father and opened the door to his room.

“Adrien, what’s gotten into you?” M. Agreste asked. “You cannot behave like this—”

Adrien slammed the door in his face.

Stunned into silence, M. Agreste stood there for several seconds, mouth gaping open.

“Adrien? Adrien!”

He banged his fist against the door but it would not budge. In fact, once he paused to catch his breath, there was a very deliberate click of the lock.

“Sir,” Nathalie said, as gently as she could. “I think he needs some space.”

“He is not a child to be throwing tantrums!” said M. Agreste. “Adrien, open the door right now!”

Nothing but stubborn silence.

“You should leave him be, sir,” Nathalie said.

The man glared at her, his patience worn thin.

“Let me be the judge of what is best for my son, Nathalie,” he hissed.

She blamed the hellish day they had all just been through, but even with that as an excuse, Nathalie wasn’t sure what possessed her to open her mouth and utter the words she had.

“No offense, sir, but you do not have the best track record with that.”

It succeeded on one front, at least: splitting M. Agreste’s fury equal parts between herself and Adrien. And she was an easier target with how close she stood to the man, and how servile and obedient she had been in the past.

Well, now he looked at her as if he didn’t recognize her. No sense in wasting momentum.

“Unless you want me to fetch a battering ram, I suggest we leave him be for now,” she said.

M. Agreste drew himself to his full height, eyes cold. He marched past her, towards his office, with the unspoken assumption that Nathalie would follow, just as she always did: one step behind.

In the privacy of the room, M. Agreste resumed the vigil by his wife’s portrait, his back to Nathalie.

“I have never sensed so much anger from Adrien,” he said. It was phrased like a question, and so Nathalie answered.

“Can you blame him, sir? Everyone is on edge today.”

“What is it that you’re hiding from me?” he asked.

Nathalie dropped her gaze to the floor, her shoulders sagging. It didn’t matter if her posture wasn’t perfect, since he wasn’t even looking at her.

“I shouldn’t be the one telling you this,” she said. “Adrien has a good heart – I’m sure he will want to speak to you eventually—”

“What is it?” he repeated sharply, turning around. She felt his irritation, a surface emotion to cover the true depth of his rage and fear.

She ought to stand up straight, look him in the eyes, and admit the truth; she could do none of these things.

“He saw me detransform,” Nathalie said, quiet and apologetic. “I am so sorry.”

It had taken several hours to rid the city of the rampaging monsters and do whatever they could to support damaged buildings and clear blocked roads. Ex-Ladybug hadn’t resurfaced, waiting for their next move. Or possibly because the damaged Peacock had finally incapacitated her. This was something Nathalie could almost sympathize with – her own muscles protested every movement. With Adrien and M. Agreste safe in the mansion, all she wanted to do was crawl into one of the guest bedrooms and sleep for a week, just as Duusu had already done.

But this couldn’t wait.

Would he yell? Strike her? Fire her? Under normal circumstances he never would, but circumstances were not normal.

Nathalie flinched when she felt a hand on her face, but it was surprisingly gentle. M. Agreste simply lifted her chin so that she would meet his gaze.

“I see,” he said. “He knows about me, as well?”

“He strongly suspects it,” Nathalie said. “You may still be able to convince him otherwise. At the time, I just didn’t know what to say.”

“This is not your fault, Nathalie,” he said tiredly. “It was an accident.”

Nathalie shuddered, her resolve weakening. “No. It wasn’t. Not quite.”

Hand still on her chin, M. Agreste froze. His steel-blue eyes were wide-open.

“There were other circumstances,” she said. Rest, good heavens, she needed to rest— “I am so sorry, sir.”

“Nathalie,” his voice was cold, quiet, dangerous. “I _trusted_ you. If anyone were to find out—”

“Someone will, eventually,” Nathalie said. “This is not a secret you can keep forever.”

“It’s not your place to decide who and when,” he said.

Despite her exhaustion, Nathalie trembled with rage.

“Oh, I know my place very well,” she said. “But perhaps if you bothered to have any sort of relationship with your own son, _sir_ , he wouldn’t be so ready to believe you are a supervillain.”

Guilt ate through him. He did not react kindly to the feeling.

“My relationship with my son is none of your business,” he said.

“Yes, it is!” Nathalie said. “You _made_ it my business, without ever asking for my permission. Just like you told me about your insane quest and then just assumed I’d be fine with it.”

His grip on her chin grew a bit more forceful.

“I have never heard you complain,” he said. “If you didn’t want to help me all you had to do was say so.”

“But I wanted to help you,” Nathalie’s voice was an octave higher than normal, her hands balling into fists at her side. “You know damn well I did. You know I’d do anything for you—”

They were encroaching on a dangerous territory here. Nathalie’s breath caught in her chest and she looked away, furious that he would see her lose her composure like this.

“Which is my fault,” she said, calmer. “I shouldn’t have enabled this nonsense in the first place.”

“And yet you did,” M. Agreste said. “Now I’m finding out you have doubts. Only instead of bringing them to me, you decided to tell Adrien instead.”

“When were you going to tell him, sir?” Nathalie asked.

“Never,” he replied immediately. “Nobody was meant to know.”

 _Except me,_ Nathalie thought drily. _But I suppose I’m covered under “nobody”._

Yet again, she couldn’t quite hold her treacherous thoughts to herself, and she studied his face with some curiosity as she asked the next question.

“What about Emilie? She will find out what you did. How do you think she’ll react to everything you have done in her name?”

He closed his eyes briefly, rage overtaking his features.

“You think she will despise me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You think she will leave me – or is it, perhaps, what you hope will happen?”

She was too stunned to speak for a long moment, her mouth opening and closing several times. No words made it past her lips; her hands trembled, balling against his chest, shoving him a step backwards.

“How dare you? How _dare_ —”

M. Agreste caught her hands before she could strike him in earnest, even though they both knew she would never do that. Her fury was burning out very quickly.

“Did you imagine that I’d come to you for comfort?” he asked, prodding at the open wound to see if it still hurt.

“But that’s exactly what you would have done, sir,” Nathalie said. “It’s what you always do. But then things start going well again and you forget you ever needed me.”

“And yet you’re still here,” M. Agreste said.

Of all the selfish, arrogant people in the world, he had to be the worst; and _yet_.

Once he loosened the grip on her wrists, Nathalie didn’t snatch her hands away. She relished the feel of his warm fingers on her skin, the scent of his cologne. The regret that was already apparent in his expression.

“Yes,” she said, resigned. “I’m still here.”

Still here, living a foolish fantasy. Because she knew, deep-down, that they were perfect for each other, Gabriel Agreste and herself. He trusted her; he needed her. And she could help him – she could fix the damage Emilie’s disappearance had caused to him and this family. If only he gave her a chance—if either he or Adrien gave her the chance to become what they all wanted her to become—

His hair was thick with pomade, so she curled her palm around the nape of his neck. He had to catch her hips when she pulled him towards her; his warm, soft lips parted hungrily, and he steered her towards the desk in the corner of his office. Its edge bit into the back of her thighs; M. Agreste’s teeth scraped the skin of her neck.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Nathalie. You deserve better.”

She wasn’t sure about “deserve” but she knew, with startling clarity, that this _was_ what she wanted, more than anything else. And she could have had it. Her only fault was not being Emilie, but Emilie was _gone_. Long, long gone; save for the memories tormenting them, and the golden portrait that Nathalie could see, perfectly, over M. Agreste’s shoulder. Even as she closed her eyes, it seemed to have been burned permanently beneath her eyelids.

Maybe it was time for all of them to move on.

***

Afterwards, she found the guest bedroom she had occasionally slept in. It happened a total of five times in the past two years, and only because she couldn’t see straight and didn’t trust herself to find her own lock in her own apartment door. Crashing at her boss’s house was the very definition of unprofessionalism.

Until now, that is.

“Duusu,” she said, turning on a lamp. “Wake up.”

The blue Kwami was curled on a pillow. She raised her head and yawned, blinking sleep from her huge eyes.

“What is it, Nathalie? Another attack?”

“We have to go,” Nathalie said. “Transform me, please.”

As Mayura, she could sense Adrien’s anger had faded; more specifically that the boy was asleep. This was perfect.

With the black and white corridors plunged into darkness, she was just another shadow. She crept up to the boy’s room and unlocked his door with a spare key, taking care not to wake him or alarm M. Agreste (a flash of confused emotions, flaring brightly in her mind; still in his office).

Adrien looked much younger and more peaceful in his sleep. She took a moment to offer him a silent apology, but this was for his own good. He would understand.

The Kwami of Destruction was sprawled on a pillow and snoring loudly. He didn’t wake in time; not until Mayura slipped the ring from Adrien’s finger and held it in the palm of her hand.

“Don’t make a sound,” she ordered him.

The Kwami couldn’t. He stared at her, indignant, with his green cat eyes. But he belonged to her now.

Mayura left the room as silently as she had entered it and then opened the window in her guest room. The cold night air was a relief after everything, soothing her heated skin.

She jumped and ran until she was a safe distance from the man and his son. Then she exhaled.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

The Kwami hovered in the air, glaring.

“Plagg,” he said. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, lady?”

“I had to borrow you for a second,” Mayura explained.

It was nearing midnight. Mayura’s heart hammered in her chest as she scanned the landscape of the city.

What she just did was wrong, she had no illusions on the subjects; and what she was about to do was even worse. But Mayura knew herself. And, for the first time in years, she knew exactly what she wanted.

Now all she needed was a miracle.


	6. Chapter 6

It took less than half an hour to locate Ex-Ladybug. Mayura moved from rooftop to rooftop, calling out with the help of the Peacock magic, until she got a response.

“Well, that was easy,” the other woman said through the blue visor. “Have you come to surrender?”

“Something of the sort,” Mayura said. “Where can I find you?”

A surge of suspicion came through the mental link. Ladybug was silent for a long moment, probing Mayura and her surroundings with her own magic. It was an uncomfortable sensation: her emotions laid bare for all to see, her mind a tumultuous mess of longing, guilt, and determination.

“And you’re alone,” Ladybug mused. “Interesting.”

The address she gave wasn’t very far away. Mayura landed on the rooftop, hopped down onto a balcony, and then pushed open the glass door. She couldn’t see far into the apartment – save for the yellow circle of light around an armchair, the interior was dark. Even so, she could see it was a drab, lifeless room, without much thought put into comfort or design. It made sense, of course. Not everyone had the kind of money M. Agreste did to play supervillain with style.

The floor could do with a good scrub, Mayura thought uncharitably. Her heels clicked loudly when she took several steps inside, scanning the interior for a familiar figure.

“Are you going to lecture me about my housekeeping skills?” Ladybug asked.

Her voice emerged from the darkness somewhere behind Mayura. Thanks to years of rigid discipline, Mayura managed to hold herself still and say nothing.

Ladybug circled her, face twisted with a smirk. Despite her arrogance and bravado, the toll the broken Peacock took on her health was obvious. Her skin was ashen, her eyes beneath the mask had a manic, unhealthy gleam, and her movements were jerky and uncoordinated. She walked, but Mayura suspected that it was determination alone that kept her upright.

“What happened? You seem upset,” she said with faux concern. “I hear it’s a dangerous thing to be here in Paris. Someone might want to take advantage.”

“He wouldn’t do that to me,” Mayura said.

“Right. It doesn’t matter as long as he doesn’t do it to _you_.”

“What do you care? Dozens of people got hurt today. You don’t seem very concerned about that.”

The woman’s temper flared. She circled Mayura yet again, toying with her own shard of the Peacock.

“All you need to do is hand over your Miraculouses,” she said. “Afterwards I will personally set everything right.”

“And then what?”

It made her pause. Not to consider her answer; Mayura knew well enough that she didn’t have one. At least not one that would make sense.

“Then,” Ladybug said. “Then I will fix things. I will make the world a better place. You’ll see.”

The absolute conviction in her voice was perhaps the worst of it. Mayura shuddered. What would it be like to see herself as the saviour of the universe? To feel responsibility for every problem, every small injustice; to have the power, and therefore the moral obligation, to act out on that sense of responsibility?

No, she didn’t want that. She never would.

“What about Hawkmoth?” she asked.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, is that the only thing you are capable of caring about?” exasperated, Ladybug finally took a seat in her armchair. Her eyes fluttered close, an unsteady breath rattling her chest. “Such hopeless, tragic devotion. You _must_ know he will never feel that way about you.”

“Oh,” Mayura said. “He will.”

She stretched out her hand and uncurled her fingers. There, in the palm of her hand, was the Black Cat Miraculous.

Ladybug sat up straighter, eyes widening.

“Where did you get that?”

Excitement pitched her voice higher – almost girlish even.

“I stole it,” Mayura said. “And I can give it to you – _if_ you promise to leave Hawkmoth alone.”

Coming here was a risk. Too late now. She had no other choice.

“What’s stopping me from taking it from you?”

_What, indeed_. Mayura closed her fist around the ring.

“The situation could be beneficial to the both of us,” she said. “You will get the Cat, the Peacock – and the Butterfly. Hawkmoth will hand it over to me. You see—” she drew in a shallow breath, anger creeping into her voice. “I never wanted the Miraculouses. I never wanted _him_ to use them. It’s a sick, unhealthy obsession, and it’s destroying him. But he will never _stop_. He will not stop, and he will not be reasoned with, so long as he believes he can bring his wife back.”

She paused.

“So I need him to stop believing that. I need him to give me a chance. And I need a miracle to make it happen.”

Her heart was racing. There, that was _it_. Her stupid feelings, laid out. After two long years, it felt good to give voice to her frustration. Especially now, when a solution was within reach.

Against her expectations, Ladybug was enraged. She stood up, righteous fury propelling her on, and paced the room, mouth pressed tight.

“Do we have a deal?” Mayura asked.

Ladybug turned around.

“You are that angry over one man! And bloody _Hawkmoth_ , at that—” she was shaking her head, unable to take her eyes off the ring. Desperation was silencing every other feeling. “I can’t—fine. You know what? Fine. You can have your wish, since you want it so badly.”

She took the earrings from her own ears and passed them onto Mayura.

“There will be a price,” she hissed. “There always is. Believe me, no wish is worth the price it costs. But if you’re sure—”

The ring fit easily onto her finger. The earrings took more effort, because her hands were trembling. Two Kwamis appeared before her, red and black, casting fearful looks at one another.

“Plagg,” Mayura said steadily. “And--?”

“Tikki,” Ladybug said.

“Tikki. Transform me—”

Once the Kwamis united with the two Miraculouses, Nathalie felt a rush of power unlike anything she had ever felt before. The world seemed blurred, hazy, as if everything about it was a mere suggestion – temporary, malleable, unreal—

Her misgivings had been foolish. She had been foolish. But never again – everything Nathalie had ever wanted was not only possible but also laughably _easy_. Why waste her years pining after M. Agreste if he could be hers, just like that? Adrien wouldn’t need to miss his mother anymore. No one would ever tell Nathalie that she was in any way lesser because she wasn’t Emilie; no one would even remember that Emilie had ever been important to them—and Emilie was lovely, the brightest person Nathalie had ever met. And Nathalie was nothing like her – but at last, _at last_ , it would no longer matter. Not to Adrien; not to M. Agreste; and not to Nathalie herself.

“Say it,” Ladybug said. “Let’s get it over with.”

Her wish.

Nathalie drew in a breath.

“I wish you’d forget all about me, the Miraculouses, and everything you have ever done with them.”

The woman’s eyes clouded over; she meant to protest, but the magic was already taking hold. Her blank expression, the milky white glow of her eyes – it was strange and terrifying. She had enough presence of mind to grab Nathalie’s forearms, nails sinking into her skin, desperate to hold onto the memories that were being forcibly ripped from her mind.

Nathalie caught her before she could fall. This wasn’t quite what she had anticipated. Try as she might, she could not dam or reverse the flow of power coursing through her body. It exploded in sharp, sudden pain somewhere deep inside her skull; Nathalie became aware that the shout she heard was her own, and then both women fell to the floor.

She wasn’t weakened, not exactly; she didn’t quite know how she was feeling once the pain faded. There was an odd sense of lightness and detachment. Looking down at herself, she realized that she hadn’t even been transformed. The Peacock wasn’t active. After a moment of fearful confusion, she found Duusu hiding in her sleeve.

“You can come out now,” Nathalie said.

Duusu stepped onto her palm and looked down at the Ex-Ladybug, lying unconscious on the floor. Perhaps the shock made the woman pass out. Her breathing was even, as far as Nathalie could tell, and her pulse beat strongly against Nathalie’s fingers. Hopefully she would wake up soon – hopefully. Nathalie wouldn’t know what to do if she didn’t. She had only meant to incapacitate the woman, not harm her.

The Kwami shuddered, pulsating a feeble, purple glow.

“It’s okay now,” Nathalie said with little conviction.

“Is it? Are _you_?” Duusu asked.

“Yes,” Nathalie smiled faintly. “I just can’t believe that worked. Was I really so upset?”

Duusu nodded.

“I was sure you wanted what you said—” her voice trailed off.

“Oh, absolutely,” Nathalie said. “More than anything in the world. But it’s not something I’d ever actually _do_. Guess the Peacock Miraculous couldn’t have told her that.”

Leaning down, she unpinned the other brooch from Ladybug’s chest. It looked identical to her own. She turned it in her hand and run her fingers over the gemstones forming individual feathers. Once it was separated from its holder, the Kwami emerged from the Miraculous and appeared in the air.

It looked like Duusu. It _was_ Duusu. There were, in fact, two of them, wearing identical expressions of trepidation and disapproval.

“This is freaky,” said one.

“I don’t like it!” said the other.

Now that they began circling one another, Nathalie had no idea which Duusu was her Duusu.

The two Peacock brooches got slightly warmer when she brought them together, taking on a faint blue glow. Nathalie was able to align them perfectly – Nooroo had claimed it would be sufficient to reunite them. And, although they felt just as solid as before, they phased through one another and then merged into a singular entity; and, with a flash of light, so did the two identical Kwamis.

“How are you feeling?” Nathalie asked.

Duusu flew unsteadily, like an insect caught inside a glass jar. Her eyes were closed. Nathalie cupped her between her palms and tried to calm her down.

“I’m okay,” Duusu said, her voice muffled. “I think I am? That was the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me—”

After a while, she stopped trembling. Her aura was still pulsating, the sickly, feeble glow shining through Nathalie’s fingers. Nathalie could certainly sympathize with the feeling.

Down on the floor, the Ex-Ladybug stirred. Only now did Nathalie realize that it was the first time she saw the woman untransformed. It wasn’t someone she knew or had ever heard of, that much was certain: about her own age, Caucasian, brown hair tied into a loose ponytail. She wore jeans and a hoodie. Overall, there was nothing particularly noteworthy about her appearance.

“We should go,” Nathalie said.

“The other Miraculouses,” Duusu said. “She had them—”

Nathalie nodded. She would have to move quickly – thankfully, Duusu’s faint light was enough to see by in the darker corners of the apartment, and the three Miraculouses had been left on a cupboard, where they found them easily. The bracelet, hair pin, and necklace – Turtle, Bee, Fox.

Behind her, the woman said something in a language Nathalie didn’t recognize. She hadn’t been seen yet – that was a small mercy.

Duusu hid in Nathalie’s sleeve. Together, they snuck out onto the balcony.

“Transform me,” Nathalie whispered. She did not feel capable of scaling a wall as her human self – maybe it was time to hit the gym.

There was no weakness this time, no drain on her own energy once the Peacock magic washed over her. She had never felt so – so _light –_

Mayura could easily jump several feet into the air, and then run full-speed over uneven rooftops without losing her breath or her balance. It was too easy to forget herself like this. However, the landscape of the city sobered her quickly. Firefighters struggled to put out fires, people were stranded outside of their ruined homes, the hospitals were overstuffed and undermanned. And she, Mayura, still wore Ladybug’s earrings.

Plagg and Tikki materialized before her.

“I need to get back to Marinette,” Tikki said. Then she paused, horrified. “Oh no—I shouldn’t be able to say her name—”

“I know who Marinette is,” Mayura said.

“Then take me back!”

“I—” Mayura hesitated. “There is something else I need to do. One more wish—”

“You can’t be serious!” Plagg whined.

_One more wish_.

She ignored the two Kwamis and the hammering of her own heart. _Heartless_ , indeed; sometimes she wished she had been. Having feelings was stupid, and Mayura decided she was done having them.

Her own apartment building had been damaged in the attack. Large chunk of the roof was missing, her bedroom turned into a mass or rubble. The living room was intact, more or less, save for the dust and the broken window pane. It didn’t seem like there was electricity anywhere in the building, so Mayura sat down on the couch in complete darkness and dropped her transformation.

Again, she marvelled at the sensation. There was no weakness, no pain. She could breathe deeply – although that was a mistake, because she mostly breathed in dust. But after her coughing subsided, Nathalie felt like herself again.

She set down the Peacock brooch and the other three Miraculouses, making sure they were neatly arranged on her coffee table. Yes, she was Nathalie, not Mayura. Nathalie was fastidious, emotionally distant, and well-organized. The insanity of the past few days – weeks – months – it would finally end, one way or another.

There was work to be done, still, but her phone and tablet remained at the Agreste mansion and her laptop battery was dead. Maybe it was better that way. She didn’t even have to option to contact anyone, and so no one was there to tell her how foolish her next move was.

“Plagg, Tikki,” she said. “Transform me. After my wish is granted, you can go back to Marinette or Adrien or wherever you want.”

Someone would need to collect the Miraculouses. There was no end to things that had to be done, but, for once in her life, Nathalie tried to push the thoughts from her mind.

The transformation wasn’t as strange the second time. She felt peaceful – there was no hesitation, not anymore. This fantasy future she had forced herself to believe in was just that, a fantasy, and Nathalie wasn’t going to let it rule her life.

“I wish Emilie would wake up,” she said. “Whole and alive.”

The surge of power left her feeling hollowed out and fragile, like an empty egg shell. But her wish came true – how could it not? For a fraction of a second, her will was absolute. Reality itself stood no chance.

She wanted to see Emilie. She wanted to see Adrien’s face when his mother returned to him. And she wanted to be there when Gabriel’s torment ended. She could almost imagine it—

_There would be a price_. Nathalie’s thoughts slurred together. Her body wasn’t obeying simple commands— _yes, the price would be steep._

When darkness came, Nathalie didn’t try to fight it. There was no point.


	7. Chapter 7

She dreamt.

Of that, she had no doubt. The places she saw, the people she met – they all had a hazy quality to them. Whenever she tried to focus on any one thing, it ceased to be. And so she drifted, the sea of half-formed thoughts and images buoying her gently, for an indiscernible amount of time.

But _that_ sound, the loud crash she heard right now. That was different. It came from the outside world, harsh and abrasive. In the world of her dreams, it had no place; she wanted it gone.

_You need to wake up_. Need? No, she hardly needed to do anything at all. _They are waiting_. But who are “they”?

She raised her hands and pressed them against the glass cylinder cradling her. The sky above was dark; the world outside was frightening. But something, some _one_ , was calling out to her, increasingly desperate.

There was no need for that. She was safe. She was happy. She had to let them know that – they deserved to know that—

The glass vanished into a cloud of butterflies, little pinpoints of light blanketing her until she couldn’t tell where her skin ended and the swarm began. And, once she raised her hand, she only saw the butterflies. Her body, no longer whole, was weightless; she flew—

_How strange_ , she thought. _A strange dream_.

She drifted again, deeper and deeper into sleep.

In the soft, velvety abyss, there was no sound at all. Images faded slowly. Here, she would dream no more. She would be at peace.

The very last thing she saw was a speck of blue light in the darkness. It did not fade when she focused on it. If anything, it only grew more real. Its contours sharpened; its shape was familiar.

_Duusu?_

Silently, the little Kwami beckoned her to follow. She had no physical body to move with, not in this place. Besides, where would they go? There was only darkness. The walls could be a metre or a thousand kilometres away. There was simply no way of telling.

But Duusu flew, small and resolute. Upwards, ever upwards. At this depth, blue light was beginning to penetrate the darkness. She began to see things, other things, snatches of the dreamworld she had left earlier. The colours grew richer; her ears began picking up sounds.

_Further_ , and _up_ – to where white light was shimmering on the surface. To the place she had to go back to.

***

Her vision was blurry. It wasn’t the hazy quality of dreams, though; no, it was the much more prosaic reality of a lifelong short-sightedness.

She stirred, but couldn’t quite move yet. The couch wasn’t the most comfortable place to doze off on, so why did she? And why didn’t she undress first? No amount of ironing could get that pantsuit presentable again. This was becoming an annoyingly regular occurrence. At least this time, M. Agreste wasn’t in her apartment.

There was somebody else, though. She could hear commotion in the kitchen – objects thrown around, and two voices. And, on her chest, Duusu had been curled into sleep. Awake now, she blinked her huge eyes at Nathalie and smiled. The little Kwami radiated relief and self-satisfaction.

Moments later, a man entered her living room.

“You’re awake,” he said. “Good news, good news! How do you feel?”

“I--,” she hesitated. The man was very short and much older than he appeared, that much she knew. “Master Fu?”

It made him pause and consider her warily.

“Correct,” he said. “Although I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

_What was he talking about?_ “Of course we have,” she said. “I was thirteen. You gave me my Miraculous—”

_And then you took it back. I became more powerful than you could ever imagine, and so you poisoned my own teammates against me._

No. No. That wasn’t right.

She stared blankly at her own apartment. At thirteen, she was a normal high school student, quiet and hardworking and ambitious; _at thirteen, she became Ladybug, and her life changed forever._ No, none of that made any sense—

“I can assure you that I never gave you any of the Miraculouses,” Master Fu said. “And we have first seen each other last September. You are Adrien’s caretaker, aren’t you?”

Adrien. She had to find him. Had to return the ring she stole, and explain as best as she could. But she was still enraged at the man before her, and the terrible injustice he had dressed up as wisdom. First, she would make him _pay_.

“I’m not sure what’s wrong with me,” she said carefully. “For some reason, I am very angry at you. And I can remember things I’m pretty sure had never happened.”

Master Fu was silent for a long time.

“You took the Ladybug Miraculous from one of its former holders, did you not?” he asked.

“I—yes.” It had seemed so clever at the time, so simple. “Then I wished for her memories to be wiped.” Understanding dawned on her. “This is the price, then? I can remember everything I made her forget?”

“It could be that way,” Master Fu said. “Creation and Destruction are a dangerous combination to wield, as I’m sure you’ve realized by now. The toll they take is unpredictable.”

Oh, no. No. She was awake. Did it mean—

“What about my other wish?” she asked. “Did it come true? Or is it back the way it was?”

Duusu tried to give her a reassuring smile, but her nervousness was obvious.

“It should have worked,” she said. “You paid the price, Nathalie. And then we saved you. It’s not written anywhere that you can’t deal with the aftermath of the wish without undoing it.”

“It’s not written that you _can_ , either,” Master Fu said. When he noticed Nathalie’s expression, he tried to backtrack hastily. “You were in a coma, madame. I know enough about Kwamis to have helped Duusu in her attempt to bring you back. But we had to act quickly. The longer it took, the more difficult it would have been to find you again.”

Nathalie blinked.

“I see,” she said flatly. “Well, this is a relief.” At their confused expressions, she added: “I would have hated to find out that you can bring people out of a magical coma all by yourself, Duusu. That would render the past two years quite frustrating.”

“Two years?” Master Fu frowned.

With every moment, her strength was returning. Nathalie sat up, finally, and retrieved her glasses from the coffee table. She could see the Guardian more clearly, and catalogue every aspect of his suspicious, disapproving expression.

“You’re Hawkmoth’s accomplice,” Master Fu said. “You have been, the entire time.”

“Yes,” Nathalie held his gaze. “But if my wish was granted, Hawkmoth will quit. If it wasn’t, I will ask you to let me try again. I think it might be a preferable outcome to have one person bear the consequences, rather than have him try and akumatize all of Paris all over again.”

“Why don’t we let _him_ pay the price, then,” Duusu said impetuously. “It doesn’t have to be you!”

Nathalie’s anger faded. The little Kwami was—a friend. Yes, exactly that. And it was odd to think that way about someone who wasn’t even human, but she _was_ , and her righteous anger warmed Nathalie, no matter how misplaced it might have been.

“Because I want it to be me,” she said. “Don’t start,” she raised a finger when Duusu was about to launch into lecturing mode. “Believe me, I know perfectly well how stupid I am being. But it’s fine. It really is.”

Duusu was still grumbling.

“I can’t say that I agree with you,” Master Fu said.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Nathalie said.

Something else she was just beginning to notice was that her apartment looked fine. There was no structural damage to the building. The sky outside was darkening, but from what she could see of the city was likewise peaceful and ordinary.

“Ladybug brought everything back to normal, then? I’m glad.” She paused. “How long was I asleep?”

“Almost the entire day,” Duusu said.

And no one from work tried to contact her? Strange. Although, since her phone and tablet were still at the Agreste mansion, she realized that they couldn’t even if they wanted to.

A thought rose in her mind, prickly and unpleasant: M. Agreste could have come and check on her. Perhaps he was angrier than she had anticipated. But, hopefully, he was busy, now that he had Emilie again. Even from here, Mayura could have sensed his emotions if she wanted to – it would take no effort at all to transform—

Mayura could; Nathalie couldn’t. Right now, it felt like an important distinction to make.

“Don’t worry,” Duusu said, her gaze unfocused and a soft smile spreading on her face. “I can sense Emilie – oh, this is so nice—you see, she wouldn’t listen to me,” all over again, she was blue and distressed. “No matter how many times I asked her to stop using the broken Peacock, she _wouldn’t_ listen.”

_Neither did I,_ Nathalie thought. But which set of memories did that particular stubbornness belong to?

“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked.

Rather than the comforting lies she had half-heartedly hoped for, Master Fu gave her a long, searching look, and then sighed deeply.

“I cannot say. The magic you unleashed operates by rules that were poorly understood even by the old masters.”

“But isn’t it about equivalent exchange?”

“In theory, yes. Had you attempted to bring someone back to life then another would have to die. However, since there are no objective criteria to measure the value of human life, we cannot say that the two are equal.” Master Fu lapsed into silence again. “Combining the forces of Creation and Destruction is dangerous and unpredictable. I cannot say for sure how it affected you, madame. As frustrating as it is, Ladybug’s memories may fade eventually, or slowly deteriorate your own mind. Likewise, the price you paid for restoring Emilie’s consciousness may already be paid, or may cost you dearly in the future.”

Nathalie said nothing. Her thoughts were in chaos.

“You don’t know,” she repeated, in a hollow tone of voice. “So what should I do now?”

“Wait. Observe. Be hopeful.”

“I—”

This was insanity, pure and simple. Nathalie stared ahead, unseeing.

“It might be a good idea for you to have some company over the next few days,” Master Fu’s voice sounded muffled.

“I want to stay with Nathalie,” Duusu declared.

Master Fu’s frowned at the Kwami.

“You must return to your brethren,” he said. “The Peacock Miraculous has been lost for too long. It has to be restored it to its rightful place before someone uses it for evil again.”

“I’ll come back with Nooroo or not at all,” Duusu radiated grim determination. “Besides, you said it yourself. We can’t leave Nathalie alone.”

Nathalie wanted to protest that no, they absolutely could. She was used to being alone. But her protests died in her throat, and she ended up feeling weak with gratitude that Duusu could no doubt sense.

“Very well,” Master Fu said. “Until Hawkmoth gives up his Miraculous, we must remain vigilant. Let me know if there is any trouble.”

He rose from the seat. Another Kwami – _Wayzz, Turtle Miraculous in the shape of a bracelet, the Kwami of Protection – she remembered its previous holder, she remembered being trapped on one memorable occasion – no,_ Nathalie _didn’t remember any of this—_

She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands.

“By the way,” Master Fu said. “My apologies for the state of your kitchen. Plagg was looking for cheese.”

***

She didn’t realize how bad it could be until she saw the kitchen for herself.

It took several hours to get it back in order, but on the upside, it kept her hands busy and her thoughts at bay. Well past midnight, she drifted off to sleep on the couch while a boring documentary played on her TV. Nathalie wasn’t quite ready to attempt falling asleep in her own bed, where she would have nothing but anxiety for company.

Next day, she decided that the time was about right to call HR over Skype.

“Good morning, Madeline,” she said.

“Hi, Nathalie,” the other woman replied cheerfully. “How can I help you?”

“Can you tell me if I have any vacation days left?”

There was a pregnant pause, and then the sound of keyboard buttons.

“Look, I’m going to assume you are joking,” Madeline said. “Because I _just_ emailed you about this two weeks ago.” More clicking. “You have forty two days and you need to take at least some of them off before September.”

Now that she thought about it, HR had been pestering her about the amount of overtime. But it never seemed _right_ to leave M. Agreste and Adrien alone.

Well, it wasn’t going to be a problem from now on.

“I see,” Nathalie said. “I’ll be on vacation until the end of the week, at least. Then we’ll see.”

“Yes, sure, but I’m going to need you to sign the papers.”

“I’ll be at the office soon,” Nathalie said. “Not today, but eventually.”

To pick up her belongings, most like.

Madeline didn’t argue with her. No one at the company argued with her, not when she had been the only connection between M. Agreste and the outside world. Madeline didn’t even ask if he had approved Nathalie’s request, or if she had secured a replacement for herself.

So. Vacation.

This was idiotic. She still hadn’t heard from M. Agreste and hadn’t attempted to contact him herself, so she didn’t know when, exactly, she would be getting fired. Nathalie hated not knowing things like that. She couldn’t start looking for a new job yet, not unless she could be sure how much ill will her boss harboured towards her. A bad word from Gabriel Agreste would negate all possible career opportunities. The sensible thing was to go and ask him directly, but she wasn’t ready to face him just yet.

Jobless or on vacation, she had to do _something_ with her time.

A trip, perhaps? Until now she had mostly travelled on business or had accompanied the Agrestes on their family trips. So while she had been to many places around the world, she never had the time to see them properly.

Idly, Nathalie pulled out a sheet of paper and began planning a trip around Europe. Forty two days was ridiculous, but a week seemed like a sensible place to start. She had museums to see, restaurants to patron, important landmarks to photograph and never look at again.

Yes, this was fun.

She had seven potential routes by lunchtime and was just filling in the details when the doorbell rang.

Who could it be? She hadn’t ordered anything. Nobody tried to contact her beforehand. Maybe it was a postman or something of the sort—

“Nathalie?”

She froze, finger hovering over the buzzer.

“Are you in there?”

No. No, this was not a conversation she was ready to have. _No_.

There was some hesitation at the other end of the line.

“I can come back later. But we do need to talk, I’m sure you are aware of it.”

Nathalie swallowed. Then she pressed the button.

The Agrestes looked ridiculously out of place in her apartment. First M. Agreste and now Emilie, who flashed her a friendly smile and squeezed her hand right before coming in.

“Oh, you have a lovely place,” she said. “It’s good to see some colour.”

She looked well. Radiant, even. And, of course, extremely stylish, from the geometric curl of her hair to the elegant cut of her suit and rhythmic click of her polished heels. But, most importantly, she was _alive_.

“Emilie!” Duusu launched herself at the woman, bright and joyful and golden.

“Hello, Duusu,” Emilie smiled. “We haven’t seen each other in a long time, have we? Although it seems like yesterday to me…”

Ah. Yes. Duusu, too, belonged to Emilie long before Nathalie had acquired the Peacock.

“I’m glad to see you’re well, madame,” Nathalie said.

“Please, you can call me Emilie. We’ve had that conversation before.”

“You are very kind, madame, but I’d prefer not to,” Nathalie said firmly. “Can I offer you some coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Emilie sighed.

It was a little off, a little awkward. Nathalie tarried as long as could be considered polite, and then past that limit. She had a perfect arrangement on the tray: a steaming cup of coffee, milk, sugar, biscuits. She set it on the table in front of Emilie.

“You are not going to stand there the whole time, are you?” Emilie asked, not making any move to reach for her drink.

As a rule, Nathalie didn’t sit at the table with her boss or his family. The recent—development was no reason to break that rule.

Once again, Emilie sighed with resignation.

“Things are certainly more complicated than I remember them being,” she said. “Adrien isn’t speaking to my husband. Given certain revelations, I’m not sure I want to speak to him, either.”

Nathalie couldn’t take it anymore.

“Madame,” she said. “I’m sorry. I truly am. About—”

She didn’t know how to finish that sentence. There was so much she tried to steal from Emilie in her absence: husband, son, the damn Miraculous even—and she couldn’t even begin to apologize for it all.

“About what?” Emilie asked. “Gabriel?”

Nathalie forced her voice to remain cold and steady. “Yes,” she replied. “He was—lonely, in your absence. I took advantage of that.”

Against all odds, Emilie smiled. It wasn’t a particularly warm smile.

“That’s funny,” she said lightly. “Gabriel claims he was the one taking advantage of an employee. Maybe you two should first sort this out between yourselves.”

Momentarily stunned, Nathalie nevertheless found the strength to press on.

“I provoked him,” she said. “Into a fight. I had to be angry enough so that the other Peacock Miraculous holder wouldn’t consider questioning my motifs. But—things spiralled out of control.”

It was a weak excuse, even to her ears. And yet it was what she had been telling herself – it had to have happened like this; her plan depended on it.

None of this was true. She had wanted him for years. She thought she wasn’t going to survive the combined powers of Creation and Destruction; she had _hoped_ she wouldn’t survive, precisely so that she could avoid the conversation she was having right now and the guilt that came with it.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her flat tone didn’t sound apologetic, but she was too tired to put any real emotion behind it. “I never meant to come between you two. I hope you will forgive him.”

There was a very long pause.

“Nathalie,” Emilie said slowly. “A rebound relationship is just about the healthiest thing Gabriel has done in the past two years. It’s everything _else_ that I’m struggling to forgive him for.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Not that I’m not willing to come back to this conversation,” Emilie continued, with a thoughtful expression.

“What,” said Nathalie weakly.

Emilie sighed.

“Another time, perhaps. Are you planning a trip?”

The sudden change in topic was even worse. Disregarding propriety, Nathalie sagged into her own couch.

Emilie’s expression brightened as she leafed through Nathalie’s notes.

“Oh, goodness,” she gave a gentle laugh. “19:15 to 20:30, enjoying the city? What happens at 20:30?”

“Dinner, I think,” Nathalie was still numb. “I haven’t found a restaurant yet.”

“Oh, I always wanted to visit Prague,” Emilie said. “Vienna and Budapest… I like this. Are you going alone?”

“I haven’t thought that far.”

Emilie’s expression turned melancholy. She set down the paper sheet and smoothed it, taking a moment to sort out her thoughts.

“I understand why you’d want to leave the country,” she said quietly. “I could also use a bit of space. Gabriel can get overprotective, wouldn’t you say? And—” she took in a shaky breath. “What you two did for me—Nathalie, don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled to be alive. I love being here, I love that I can see Adrien again, and Gabriel, and you. At the same time, I feel like I’m to blame for everything he has done as Hawkmoth. Do you see what I mean? No, don’t argue with me,” her smile was forced, her voice strained. “Gabriel tried that already. I just need to think, and I can’t do that in that mansion.”

It took a long moment for Nathalie to realize that something was expected of her. A gesture or word of comfort; she found neither.

“I could make arrangements on your behalf,” she said instead. “If you’d like.”

Emilie smiled softly. “Adrien will love that.”

Adrien. She didn’t think she was ready to face him, either. She wasn’t sure if he would ever forgive her for the role she played in this entire mess.

“Oh, are we going for a trip?” Duusu flew in circles between them. “Splendid!”

Nathalie wasn’t so sure, but she pulled up her laptop and began to type.

“Oh, this reminds me—here you go.”

Emilie handed her the handbag she had left at the mansion. Inside was her phone and tablet.

“Thank you, madame,” Nathalie said. “So where would you like to go? It’s short-notice, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find an apartment for two—”

“Three,” Emilie corrected.

Nathalie paused. “Oh? I thought M. Agreste wasn’t coming?”

“He had better not,” Duusu grumbled.

“He isn’t,” Emilie said. “You are.”

“Madame—”

What was she afraid of? Because – Nathalie realized – Emilie _was_ afraid. The Peacock brooch lay safely in her bedside drawer, but even without its magic, she could see the other woman was troubled. She hid it well, as she always had, struggling to be the perfect wife and perfect mother, warm and bright because Gabriel and Adrien needed her to be. It wasn’t the healthiest way to live a life, but in all honesty: what was?

So maybe she needed company. Nathalie wouldn’t deny her that.

“Very well,” she said.

***

A couple of days later the three of them stepped off a plane in Vienna. Despite the short time frame, Nathalie had everything sorted out and they made it to their apartment with only a thirty five minute delay. As she expected it to be an hour at least, Nathalie was incredibly pleased with herself. What’s more, the weather was pleasant, and Emilie and Adrien were happy. They would go visit Prater today, which she hoped Adrien would enjoy, and then do some proper sight-seeing tomorrow at Schönbrunn. Then there was the Belvedere Museum for the day after, and a concert in the Great Hall of the Musikverein that she managed to secure tickets to.

Yes, everything was going great.

“Nathalie?”

Ah. Except for one small detail.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, cold and distant and awkward.

Adrien frowned at her, his face drawn and hostile. Gone was the joy he radiated while in Emilie’s presence. It wasn’t meant for Nathalie after all.

“Did you bring the Peacock Miraculous?” he asked. “Master Fu told me you still have it.”

There was no point in lying. Besides, Duusu was already flying out of her purse, eager to introduce herself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Adrien!” she said. “Plagg said you’re the best---mmph—”

The Kwami of Destruction tackled her mid-flight, and the two rolled around. Nathalie would be alarmed but neither meant to harm the other, and Emilie haven’t noticed anything as she was busy taking a shower.

“The best what?” Adrien blinked at his Kwami.

“Don’t listen to her,” Plagg said. “Her special power is jumping to conclusions—”

“Now listen _here_ , you lazy, emotionally stunted little—”

It was probably best to leave them to it.

“I’m sorry I had to take your Miraculous,” Nathalie said quietly. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You _did_ ,” Adrien said. She had never heard such vehemence from the boy. “You _both_ did.”

Nathalie remained silent for a long moment.

“Yes, you are probably right,” she said. “Did you speak to your father?”

“Why would I want to?” Adrien asked.

“So he doesn’t know.”

Adrien shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance.

“He would never let me out of the house again if he knew.” He cast a troubled look in the direction of the bathroom. “I didn’t tell Mum, either. Do you think I should? She will not be happy about it…”

“Her son is a superhero. If anything, she will be very proud of you – and terrified. Furious at your father, too.” Nathalie frowned. “Perhaps it’s wise to keep it a secret from her.”

But Adrien wasn’t listening.

“I’m not,” he began, struggling with the admission. “I’ve never been a hero. Ladybug – Marinette – she did all those incredible things because she cares about people. She used her powers out of a sense of duty and responsibility, like a hero should. I became Chat Noir because it was _fun_.”

Plagg and Duusu stopped their squabbling and were now exchanging worried looks.

“It’s so dumb,” Adrien mumbled. “I wasn’t myself until I put on that mask – there was just so much I could _do_ – but it’s over now, isn’t it?” His voice hitched. “See? If Father didn’t do what he did, I wouldn’t get to become a hero. What kind of person _thinks_ like that? What kind of—I guess that in the end, I’m just as much of a monster as he is.”

“That’s not true,” Nathalie said.

Adrien cast her a miserable glare.

“It kind of is,” he said bitterly. “And now, what, I should be _thanking him_ for bringing Mum back? Or for letting me have—”

The shower stopped, and Adrien’s words froze in his throat. Moments later, once Emilie stepped into the tiny kitchenette, he was beaming again. The Agrestes had their fake smiles down to a fine art.

***

Adrien did, in fact, enjoy the amusement park. So did Emilie and Nathalie. It was the kind of silly fun they all needed.

Much, much later, Nathalie tossed and turned in her bed for about an hour before she finally gave up. She didn’t want to disturb the Agrestes with watching videos – the walls here were certainly thinner than at that ridiculous mansion – so she got up, fixed herself a cup of tea, and opened her laptop on the kitchen table. Might as well get some work done.

She finished a draft of an email and then, out of habit, sent it to M. Agreste for approval. Only after she clicked the button did Nathalie realize what she had done. She hadn’t talked to the man in over a week now. At Emilie’s request, he didn’t even come to the airport to see them off. The Peacock magic could probe his mind if Nathalie so chose, giving her at least an idea of how bad the situation was. Would their marriage handle it? Did she, Nathalie, _want_ it to? Or was she just as selfish and petty as M. Agreste had suggested, hoping for a clean, guilt-free way to get her rival out of the picture—

Warm hand came to rest on her shoulder, startling her out of her thoughts. Nathalie blinked, her vision strained, and saw Emilie’s tired smile.

“Are you okay?” Emilie asked.

“Yes, madame,” Nathalie said. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“Don’t be,” Emilie waved her hand vaguely. “After lying in coma for two years, I don’t really feel like sleeping. At all. Ever.”

“I understand, but it’s not really biologically possible—”

“Oh, stop it, Nathalie. I _know_. Doesn’t make it any easier.”

Her anxious tone was surprising. It really shouldn’t have been. Nathalie knew first hand what it was like, her mind a constant vortex of _What if I don’t wake up?_ Every night, as soon as she tried to relax and drift off. Falling asleep shouldn’t be taking so much effort.

The laptop chimed a notification, alerting her that M. Agreste had, despite the late hour, responded almost immediately. It was dry and formal, suggesting a small change in the second paragraph. None of the pesky “How are you” or even “You’re fired”.

Emilie read the response over her shoulder, eyebrows drawn together.

“Madame—” Nathalie began, heart in her throat.

“Relax, please,” Emilie sighed. “I don’t want to talk about Gabriel at the moment. I don’t know how, to be perfectly honest. Whatever relationship you two have—”

“We don’t have a relationship,” Nathalie said. “We never did.”

It had been an infatuation, built on nothing but her warped perception of the man and a naïve idea of love. Unlike their marriage, which had its share of troubles and low points, but had been nonetheless built over a span of years by two people committed to one another. And a part of Nathalie preferred it that way – her tragic one-sided crush was ultimately inconsequential, and a good excuse not to try and have a proper relationship of her own. After all, she couldn’t be disappointed by something that never happened.

But then Emilie was gone, and M. Agreste was alone, and needed Nathalie. And now everything was ruined.

“Why did you take me with you, madame?” Nathalie asked.

“Well, you did risk your life to save me,” Emilie said. “That’s not something I can just ignore.”

Nathalie stared at her.

“I made a lot of stupid choices for reasons I don’t fully understand myself,” she said. “But they were _my_ choices. You don’t owe me anything, madame, and you should not hold yourself accountable for them.”

Emilie gave her a wan smile.

“I wish it were that easy,” she said.

“I wish everything could be the way it was before,” Nathalie said with sudden, terrifying clarity. “This—this is what I wanted. This is what we all wanted. I should have wished for _that_ —”

Emilie’s hands rested on her shoulders. Then, hesitant, she looped them around Nathalie’s chest in a loose embrace, and set her cheek on the crown of Nathalie’s head. Her long, blonde hair spilled around them both, and Nathalie felt warmth spread all over her; a curious, curious sensation.

“It wouldn’t work,” Emilie said gently. “Life goes on, Nathalie. You know this.”

“But I can’t live like that,” Nathalie whispered. “I can’t relax not knowing what’s going to happen tomorrow, or next week, or next month.”

“You’re going to have to learn.”

It sounded like Master Fu all over again. But she was too tired to argue.

***

“Nathalie,” Emilie said in the morning of their third day in Vienna. “Adrien wants to get a gift for someone called Marinette. Do you know a Marinette? Should I be worried?”

“She’s a very nice girl,” Nathalie said. “Quite a talented designer.” _Your husband’s former nemesis._

“I see,” Emilie sipped her espresso in thoughtful silence. “But isn’t Adrien a bit young for that?”

“He’s almost fifteen, madame.”

“Ah. I—I keep forgetting that.” The melancholy look on Emilie’s face disappeared quickly as she forced her lips to smile. “Do we have time to go shopping?”

“No,” Nathalie said. “The museum opens at nine. We should be leaving in half an hour.”

“Morning, Mum! Morning, Nathalie,” Adrien said, voice still groggy with sleep. He pulled himself onto the barstool by the kitchen island and wrapped both hands around the mug of coffee Nathalie had prepared for him. “What museum?”

“Belvedere.”

Adrien groaned.

“But we went to a museum yesterday! Come on, Nathalie. My feet hurt.”

“It’s educational. The world's largest collection of Gustav Klimt's paintings. Would be a shame to miss it.”

“I’ve been there once with Gabriel,” Emilie said. “It is lovely indeed.”

Nathalie looked between the two Agrestes.

“I could join you later, if you’d prefer it that way,” she said. “You will have plenty of time to buy a gift for Marinette.”

Adrien flushed, and looked between them with a dreamy, starry-eyed look in his eyes. Bewildered, Emilie stared at her son.

“Yes,” she said carefully. “Yes. Good idea. We’ll stay in contact, okay?”

“Of course, madame.”

***

In truth, Nathalie was glad to be alone. She could relax and focus on the artwork, rather than watching over the two Agrestes. The tour guide spoke decent French, which was a nice bonus.

She was strolling through the halls when one particular man caught her attention. Her footsteps faltered.

“Nathalie.”

“Monsieur.”

He wore a disguise. At least, this was probably his intention. But M. Agreste’s idea of casual wear was polished, elegant, and with the customary touch of extravagance, so even if he wasn’t recognized he still drew a fair share of appreciative glances.

Nathalie joined him by a garish, contemporary canvas. Aside from that first, lingering look, they avoided each other’s gaze.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, sir,” she said.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his jaw tighten.

“It was a rash decision on my part,” he said. “I’d be grateful if you could keep it to yourself.”

“How did you find me?”

Vivid memories came to the forefront of her mind: the feel of his skin against her own, the taste of his lips, and the scent of his him; the way he kissed and held her for that brief, hurried moment that they were together in every sense of the word; the stupid, _stupid_ decision—

She stared ahead and tried to focus on the plaque bearing the name of the work, the artist, the description; anything, really.

“Emilie told me you were going to Vienna,” he said. “And then I tracked you down with the Butterfly Miraculous.”

Ah. Yes, this brought her back to the present.

“You still have it?”

She had the Peacock brooch pinned to her blazer, so she felt his frustration and guilt as acutely as she would her own.

“I—” M. Agreste rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What if something happens to them? Without it, I wouldn’t be able to find any of you.”

“You could call,” Nathalie pointed out.

“Neither Emilie nor Adrien are picking up my calls,” he said. “They asked me to renounce Nooroo, but without it, how will I know they are safe? After they insisted on coming all this way to get away from me…”

Nathalie pondered this for a moment.

“So they asked you to hand over the Miraculous and give them some space, and you decided to keep it and then follow them to a foreign country?”

M. Agreste winced. “It sounds bad when you put it that way.”

The painting wasn’t making much of an impression. Nathalie moved on to the next one.

“Did you honestly think I’d let anything happen to them, sir?” she asked stiffly. “After everything?”

It stung that he didn’t even trust her. Nathalie would be the first to admit she wasn’t superhero material, but as long as she held the Peacock brooch, she could protect the people she cared about.

“Nathalie.” The quiet, serious tone of his voice chased a shiver down her spine; he stood right behind her, not close enough to touch, but not far enough to speak in more than a low whisper. “I _never_ would have asked you to do what you did. I never would have attempted to trade your life for Emilie’s—”

“How hard would you have tried to stop me?”

He remained silent.

“You’re not being fair,” he said.

“No,” Nathalie said. “I am not.”

Onto the next painting: landscape. Mountains. A portrait of a nobleman. Three naked ladies. Another landscape. They all blurred together in her mind.

“Nathalie.”

The way he said her name was infuriating. What gave him the right to make it sound like—like _that_? And why couldn’t she bring herself to ignore him, or refuse him anything ever? Because, yes, he was alone and in pain, and Nathalie’s every instinct was to offer comfort and then try her hardest to ameliorate the situation. If she faced him now, that would be it.

How lucky, then, that it wasn’t her decision to make.

Next to her, M. Agreste exhaled sharply and then turned around. Nathalie didn’t need to look; the tell-tale click-clack of heels alerted her to Emilie’s arrival.

“You weren’t meant to be here for another hour,” Nathalie said. Not that any of the Agrestes paid her any mind.

“We felt bad about leaving you like that,” Emilie said. She smiled, but placed a protective hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “I see we shouldn’t have bothered.”

Nathalie felt cold all over.

“Madame, this isn’t what it looks like—”

“So tell me,” the pleasant lilt of her voice _almost_ masked the venom inside. “What’s your excuse, dearest? Are you here on business?”

Hesitant, apologetic, M. Agreste replied, “I had to see you.”

Adrien snorted. “That’s new.”

It seemed that M. Agreste was only now coming to realize just how badly he had handled the relationship with his son. Adrien’s open hostility confused and bewildered him, and he appeared to have no idea how to respond to it. That, more than anything else, made Emilie’s expression harden. Conscious that they were still in an art gallery, however, she remained civil throughout.

Dinner. They were meant to head for dinner, then back to the apartment for a change of clothes, then to the concert. Their seats weren’t great, as she had only booked them a few days ago, but Nathalie was looking forward to the experience. It was meant to be _her_ vacation, too, and now she was back to being the silent assistant, here to make sure the three Agrestes got to places on time and had everything they needed.

_This is what you wanted_ , her mind said helpfully. _Everything back the way it was._

Except it wasn’t. Except the former Ladybug’s memories distorted her past and Emilie’s curse might damage her future. Present was all she had. Which, granted, had always been the case, but Nathalie had never been made to feel it quite so acutely.

They left the gallery in tense, uncomfortable silence. Adrien dragged his feet and Nathalie slowed down to match his step, which meant that she was left to watch M. Agreste and Emilie walk shoulder-to-shoulder. He said something to her that she could not hear, but she saw the pleading look in his eyes; she saw Emilie respond; she saw him reach for Emilie’s hand and curl his fingers around her slender palm; she saw her pause, and turn to him, equal parts anger and longing coursing through her mind; they talked in low voices, lost to the entire world.

“Ugh,” Duusu said. “This is terrible.”

“No, they are talking,” Nathalie forced herself to say. “This is a good thing.”

“Is it though?” Adrien asked dejectedly. “Mum’s going to forgive him. Just you wait.”

“I’m hungry,” Plagg whined. “Not that anyone cares.”

Nathalie sighed.

“There’s a café nearby. We might as well give your parents some privacy, Adrien.”

“Sure, why not,” Adrien dug his hands in the pockets of his coat and stared at the ground. “It’s not like we came here to _get_ some privacy, from _Father_.”

“Believe me, this isn’t quite what I had in mind, either,” Nathalie said.

At the café she ordered them both a coffee and a slice of cake, which Adrien devoured despite his sour mood and Nathalie picked at with little to no enthusiasm. The table they chose was secluded enough that the two Kwamis could share, especially once it became obvious that Nathalie wasn’t going to eat her portion.

“This isn’t Camembert,” Plagg said glumly. “Worst day _ever_.”

“You can’t always get what you want, Plagg,” Adrien sighed.

“I’m not asking for much! Just delicious, fragrant, creamy cheese—”

Lost in daydreams, Plagg floated over the table. Duusu calmly finished the cake while he was distracted.

“Did you find a gift for Marinette?” Nathalie asked.

“Yes!” Adrien brightened considerably. From one of his pockets, he produced a small red box. Inside was a silver necklace in the shape of a heart. “Umm, Mum says it’s a bit much,” Adrien chewed his lip. “But I think Marinette would like it… honestly, I don’t know? I’ve never done this before. Her parents run a bakery, so I can’t get her anything sweet, she’s _much_ better at fashion and design than I am, I know she likes video games but I can’t get her one if I don’t know what she already has – should I ask Nino? I think I’ll ask Nino.” He took out his phone and held it, thumb hovering over the button. “Or maybe I should ask Alya? She’s Marinette’s best friend… but what if she tells Marinette?”

Nathalie fought a smile. If she remembered correctly, Marinette was the girl whose birthday gift for Adrien Nathalie had, uh, appropriated for her own purposes. Not her proudest moment, to be sure, but at least she could be certain that the girl cared deeply for Adrien and would love whatever present he got her.

“Consulting Alya sounds like a good idea,” she said. “Do you think she can keep a secret?”

“Well. She runs the Ladyblog.”

“Oh.” Nathalie frowned. “And she doesn’t know, does she? About you and Marinette?”

Adrien shook his head. “I don’t think she’d believe it – Marinette is the nicest person ever, but she’s not really like Ladybug at all. At least most of the time.”

“You aren’t exactly like Chat Noir, either.”

“Someone said something about how masks reveal people’s true self,” Adrien said.

“Perhaps,” Nathalie said. “Or perhaps they just let you operate under the illusion that your actions have no consequences. Your choice to be thoughtful, polite, and well-mannered as Adrien isn’t any less valid than your behaviour as Chat Noir.”

“Not as fun though,” Plagg chimed in. “Honestly, lady, you are the most boring person in existence.”

Nathalie consider his assessment for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t really have a problem with that.”

Plagg groaned.

“I just wish you had talked some sense into my father,” Adrien said.

Up until this moment, Nathalie had enjoyed this conversation. Now she felt herself tense again.

“It’s not my place to question M. Agreste,” she said.

“Why not? He trusts you.”

“He’s my boss, Adrien. He trusts me to do my job, nothing more.”

Her curt tone was enough to deter Adrien from asking other questions. For that, she was grateful. How could she even begin to explain the mess she had gotten herself into in regards to their so-called “professional relationship”? Or the threat of losing her job, still very real? Nathalie was in a comfortable enough position financially that it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but she wasn’t looking forward to it, either.

But that wasn’t up for a debate, was it? She couldn’t work there anymore. For her own sake, and Emilie’s, and M. Agreste’s. It was just—where else could she go? What else would she do? Sad as the truth was, they were the nearest she had to a family.

Adrien was still watching her curiously. And it occurred to her that no, the Ex-Ladybug was wrong; having Emilie back was worth the price she paid. Nathalie would just have to pull through, and figure out what do with her life.

Some day. Eventually. But perhaps not right now.

Adrien’s phone went off.

“Hi, Mum! No, we went to the café across the street – the table in the corner – wait, I think I see you—”

He waved his hand, a huge grin splitting his face when Emilie waved back. It faltered a little when he realized M. Agreste would be joining them, too.

Rarely did anyone see Gabriel Agreste so sheepish, but there he was: trailing behind his wife, their hands laced together in a loose, comfortable gesture. Duusu glowered at the sight of him but kept her thoughts to herself.

“Adrien,” M. Agreste said carefully. “I—”

Adrien dropped his gaze and remained silent. His bright green eyes gleamed, but he somehow kept the tears from falling.

M. Agreste struggled to form words. Eventually, he let go of Emilie’s hand and took one, two steps in Adrien’s direction. As Adrien still refused to look at him, he had to go down on one knee to keep their eyes level. Only then did he untie his scarf and unpin the inactive Butterfly Miraculous from the collar of his shirt.

Adrien’s breath caught in his throat. He took the offered brooch and stared down at it, tears rolling freely down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” M. Agreste whispered. “I’m sorry—”

Before Adrien could reply, M. Agreste put his hands on his shoulder and drew him in a tight embrace.

Nathalie forced herself to look away. This wasn’t meant for her. In all honesty, they shouldn’t be doing this in a busy Austrian café. Their booth was separated from the other patrons, of course, but it was uncomfortable nonetheless. She did quite like the décor, though – an interesting piece of contemporary art on the opposite wall, yes, with bold red accents but classy enough not to distract from the surroundings.

Duusu leapt down onto the table from her spot on Nathalie’s shoulder. Her bright, joyful glow was way too conspicuous, and Nathalie took a hasty look around to make sure she hadn’t been spotted.

“Nooroo!”

The purple Kwami had indeed materialized, only to be tackled with a flying hug. Grateful for something to do, Nathalie ushered them off to sit on the chair next to her rather than the middle of the table. Since the three Agrestes were preoccupied at the moment, Plagg could and did join the Kwamis without giving his presence away.

When M. Agreste let him go, Adrien was trying his hardest to appear as if he hadn’t been crying. Emilie leaned over with a warm smile and a kiss to Adrien’s forehead. Then she turned over to her husband, some of the tension easing from her expression.

“Well,” she said softly. “This is a good place to start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PHEW.
> 
> Huge thanks to everyone who made it to the end of the story, particularly if you took the time to leave a comment! That kind of support really means a lot and kept me motivated to continue ♥
> 
> Now, because I know this ending isn't GabeNath, and is only about 70% happy: I'm very sorry. My options were something like:  
> 1\. Nathalie dies, which is unaccpetable.  
> 2\. Emilie stays dead, which is kind of depressing.  
> 3\. Emilie is evil, which would be fun (she was the other Peacock holder in the first draft of the story), but felt kind of cheap.  
> 4\. Nathalie, Emilie, and Gabriel have a happy polyamorous relationship, which was my intention here but it felt way too rushed to introduce it in this chapter.
> 
> So, umm. Yeah :D While it's not a happy ending yet, they are in a place where they can start working towards it? ...I think?
> 
> Thanks again!


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